


Assassin's Creed: Purgatory

by stingingscorpion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Assassin's Creed AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of past abuse, No Curse, Old West, Period-Typical Homophobia, Violence, a lot more game/movie references than you'd like, also food, because Wynonna, because god i love history, but it's mild i swear, calamity jane is here because she's my hero, character death is not dolls or wayhaught, doesn't fit into AC game lore, dolls and doc don't show up for a while, dual plotlines, hella wynhaught brotp, kind of its own thing, like HELLA slowburn, lots of swearing, lots of worldbuilding, my attempt at historical accuracy, only slightly, slowburn, somewhat Wayhaught centric, this is gonna be a long one y'all, uses lots of canon from WE, using music to bond, using waverly to go on long historical rants, what else we got, will be different from typical AC layout
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-06-21 03:25:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 162,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15548553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stingingscorpion/pseuds/stingingscorpion
Summary: The Assassins are on their last legs against the Templars running the shady Black Badge Division. Searching for enchanted rings last owned by Sheriff Clootie and his wives, a century ago, capable of unspeakable evil. Wynonna Earp and the secrets in her genes are the key to victory, in a race against time and all the odds stacked against them.





	1. Today I Was An Evil One

**Author's Note:**

> Oh maaaaan, I've been so excited to share this one with y'all. Something about these two universes together just seems right. The old west and Wyatt and Doc and all that, maybe.
> 
> If you're familiar with the AC games, the structuring in this AU is a bit different, starting with Wyatt not being an Assassin at all, just a helping hand. And obviously there will be a lot more modern day stuff than present.
> 
> I also wanted to try something new for an original piece I've been working on, where I include detailed dates and times. If it doesn't work out, I'll just take 'em down, no problem.
> 
> Enjoy :)

  ** _[SUBJECT: WYATT EARP]_**

**_[SOURCE: WYNONNA EARP]_ **

**_[ERROR: MEMORY UNSTABLE]_ **

**_[ERROR: DESYNCHRONIZATION IMMINENT]_ **

“Oh, hell.”

He was approaching her again. That same, strange man and his bowler hat, perched between two precarious hands. A gentle plea of a gentle heart to his face. Rounded glasses. Some old timey looking suit. He looked, she thought, like a cowboy Harry Potter. She wanted to snort to herself, but found she couldn’t do it. Damn. The last thing she had was crappy old jokes.

“Yes, it has been some time,” the man was saying, and she found no focus on him, but the background engulfing him. More severe than usual.

Broken, blaring white and flashing red like an emergency alarm, visuals foggy and giltchy as the inside of a poorly crafted video game. Textures of some town present in the together spaces, emptiness elsewhere, making it polka-dotted nonsense. She’d seen it often in these past few days—or was it weeks?—but it was more put together, noticeably less buggy weirdness.

“Are you well, friend? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost. And frankly, Robert, I’m afraid I do not have the capacity for ghosts. No matter what they praise and preach of me.”

Her eyes went wide, and she felt _she’d_ seen a ghost. It was always so weird. She didn’t say that, any of it. It wasn’t even her voice!

She looked down. Same type of formal wear. Gun on her, or whoever, hip. Boots, male. _Spurs_ on them. What the hell was this, Halloween?

But it was all so familiar. She’d seen the man before. She’d seen the weird, pixelating backdrop before, though not as heavily destroyed as it was now. The burn of the sun bleeding into the crowded saloon. The stench of horses. The dumb spurs. That holster, the gun. This body, the one that wasn’t hers. The voice, not hers. The same thing, over and over.

“I need a favor.” The first man again, Robert.

“Well, go on now, spit it out.” Strange not-her voice, not-her hands shuffling cards for poker. “You know I’ve ponies to water.”

“I’ve asked you thrice now, and thrice you’ve said no.”

Robert’s gentle tone, delicate fingers resting his hat an empty space next to them. Poker table. She hadn’t noticed it until now, and hadn’t noticed she’d been sitting. Or in the middle of a poker game. Every time she came back to this scene she noticed something new, little or big. Or perhaps she was rediscovering things she’d forgotten in this endless loop of insanity.

“But I need your help. We need your help. Desperately. We don’t have the skill, or the time.”

“Robert,” not-her said, leaning back in his chair, “it’s far from my jurisdiction.”

The world began to break further. As always. She sighed in her head, because they’re nearing the point she’s never passed before. Meaning everything was about to restart, again.

“Please. I know I’m asking too much of you, but good honest people are dying. The Sheriff doesn’t know what he’s playing with!”

Her not-really body leaned forward, looked into Robert’s soft eyes. Cards falling from fingers. “Do you? Does any of your clan?”

His sight captured that odd tool again, tucked under Robert’s sleeve. Elegant design. Polished silver gleaming in the light that seeps in, gripping his left wrist in a thick brown leather wrap. The right is empty, or she’s never seen one there. What the hell is it? A glove? It’s a thousand degrees outside. She felt the heat in this whoever’s skin, blanketed in a heavy suit.

“Three months of your time, please. I beg of you, ride to Purgatory with me.”

His mustache twitches as he considers. She sighs, internally, again. Usually this dream or vision or whatever she’s being fed kicks off, and she wakes with a headache and turned-over stomach. And that woman, barking orders in an over-lit room. She was blonde. Lucado, was it? Her mind was too foggy. Made her miss the feeling of heavy drink, all its highs and all its lows, many flaws of regret in the morning. Usually meant she was doing something pleasant. Not whatever this is.

“Three months, Robert?”

He perks up with hope, on schedule. “Yes, sir.”

“And you’re sure of this Sheriff? Truly?”

Hopeful nod. “Yes, sir.”

Her inhabited body nods, then stands. Robert is slightly confused, until his hand is shaken.

“For old times’ sake, friend.”

She looked around. Curious. By now the vision would wash over. She’d jump awake, sweating, sick, cursing. The blonde “Lucado” and her scowl would curse, too, then have her dragged off. Start again tomorrow, same shit. In an endless loop, until the day she finally went crazy.

Robert was smiling at him, glowing as that awful, piping hot orb in the sky. “Thank you, Wyatt.”

She felt she was hit with something, maybe a freight train. A billion different voices and a billion different feelings raced over her.

A running horse shaking her body, saddlebags full behind her. She hated horses. How the hell was she riding one, and why?

The feeling of relief, at a sign, of all things, words she couldn’t quite understand just now.

Several different outlaws and and their posses shooting at her, and feeling electricity in her veins as she skillfully returns. Odd, again, because she swore she’d never touch a gun again. Not after _that_ night.

Joining Robert in meeting some folks, dressed in long, impractical robes with longer hoods secluding faces. She felt to call them out on cowardice, but couldn’t. Things moved too fast.

Slight confusion but overpowering giddiness at the sight of a man and his thick mustache. Wondering why he wasn’t, as usual, hacking his life out into a bloodied handkerchief. His trusted mare, Lavender, behind him. A feeling of brotherhood.

Brotherhood.

Those cloaked people again, arguing with them. Robert stepping in the middle, the device on his wrist clear as day but donning the same dress code as her occupied body. No robes, like the others. Two different uniforms, two difference allegiances. He was told to choose, and choose he did.

Fear pierced her, as she stared into a devil’s eyes. Devil of a man. His douchey formal attire and douchey cape flowing in the wind, brimmed hat covering his face, except for a frosty grin as he held Robert hostage. She felt not electricity, but despair as a bullet exploded from her hand. Robert screamed.

-

_September 27, 2016_

She jumped, awake, her body her own again. The world was still foggy, but somehow she knew it was hers. She always felt it, in her gut, even when it was hard to tell.

Bumping up and down, like that stupid horse. But no snorts, no smashing of hooves into the earth. A low growl. Quiet screeching, as the bumping came to a stop. Windows, she noticed, ahead, the world flying past them. Fast at first, but slowing now. A warmth, blasting in from above. This was a car. A van, when her mind caught up.

A blanket was in her lap, slung over when she shot up. Laying on a bench. She checked herself. _Her_ body. _Her_ fingers, arms, legs. Sweats that didn’t belong to her, and a plain black shirt, nonsense numbers printed over. Because she was _their_ prisoner. Only now, she was noticing, her favorite, fringed leather jacket was thrown over it. Damn, she missed the thing. She felt for her neck. Necklace was missing. One key and all its secrets, one good luck charm, another to ward off curses.

Someone was in the driver’s seat, a full bloom of red hair spilling down, cut just past the chin. Wearing one of those robes, more crimson than her hair. Another, in the passenger seat, regular outfit. She’d seen him before, she was certain, and definitely recognized the way he rambled on and on. A second woman across from her, concerned, same robes, in purple, same long hood pulled back, as the driver. On her right, on the same bench, someone she recognized, without a doubt. A cautious look to her hazel-green eyes, a hand up in caution.

“Waverly?” she asked, everything still slamming into her as meteors. Good sign: her own voice, not _his._

“Hey, take it easy.” One hundred percent her sister. The homely warmth of that voice was unmistakable. “You’re safe now, Wynonna.”

As much as she, Wynonna, wanted to jump up and down at the sight of her little sister after however long it’d been this time, she could only rub at her head and its blistering pain. “What the hell is ‘safe’, exactly?” she asked.

The van drove on, slow and careful around the mess of trees outside. Where were they? And what was Waverly doing with these people? The exact type of people she wasn’t sure existed, until two weeks ago. All because her Uncle Curtis could keep a good secret. And other factors.

“What do you remember last?”

Wynonna turned her attention to the woman across from her, dressed head to toe in those dumb robes. Fancy half-cape flung over the shoulder, a nice white against the shades of purple. With all the heat in the car, wasn’t she sweating buckets?

Wynonna rubbed her head again, as if to will away the pounding. “I just came back from Greece to go to Curtis’s funeral.”

Waverly bowed her head slightly at that. Still unbelievable Curtis was killed, the killer never found. It was covered up as a stroke. Wynonna suspected foul play, from the same people Lucado worked for. She was asking around town, interrogating Waverly’s child of a boyfriend when Waverly herself interrupted. With a shotgun. Worst birthday ever.

She continued, “Then some thug assholes broke into Gus’s when I was alone and took me. Said they needed me to finish what Willa started.”

Willa. Even after all these years, hearing her name was like a punch to the gut. The same people who took Wynonna were the same people who attacked the homestead when she was twelve. They took Willa, and Wynonna shot their father Ward fatally, accidentally. She just wanted to help. Totally ruined her life, seeing people who, apparently, couldn’t exist. They were just that good at staying off-grid, maybe. She spent most of her childhood doing exactly what system expected of a crazy girl such as herself, in and out of jail. Finally left town when she was old enough, bummed around Europe. Then Curtis sent her an email. Damn good thing she bought that smartphone, and actually listened for once when he told her to be accessible.

Curtis confided everything to her. How he never stopped looking for Willa, when everyone else did. Who these people were, and just how dangerous. How he worked with the Assassins Brotherhood, just as her ancestor Wyatt Earp did. He helped fight these people. The Templars, currently operating out of the Black Badge Division, a secret government agency. Everything, whispers and rumors, she blew off as fake. No way it was true. No way her family was involved with some secret organization, one fighting a rival for centuries without end. Then she woke up to Lucado’s crusty face every day, and reality set in like spoiled milk.

Wynonna noticed the driver tensing at Willa’s name, too. How she gripped the steering wheel so tight she was practically strangling it. The woman in purple looked bothered, too.

“I’m so sorry about Willa,” she said. “I know they worked her to death. We tried to break her out, several times, but—”

“But fucking Black Badge,” the driver finished, tone matching the fury clear on her face. “We lost a lot of people to those assholes.”

The woman across nodded along. “The people in this van are all we have left.” She indicated the man familiar to Wynonna, in the passenger seat. “And Jeremy’s still pretty new.”

Maybe it was a good thing Waverly wasn’t regarded as the newbie. Still not clear whether or not she joined these people. And knowing Waverly, she probably did. Especially if Wynonna went missing. She’d walk into a camp of armed degenerates with nothing more than a handful of shotgun shells, for her sake.

“I recognize you,” Wynonna said to him, Jeremy. “Right? I’ve seen you around, I think.”

“I’m a double agent!” he said, proud. “BBD fired me when I tried to stop what they were doing, so I reached out to Rosita.”

The woman across was indicating herself. Names. Knowing each other on a personal level. Meant they needed a favor. One Wynonna knew she’d be super unhappy with.

“I helped spring you, too, because I knew how to get on the inside.” He looked more excited now. “Like a secret agent in a movie!”

The driver glanced at him, hands turning them all left. “They make secret agent movies?”

He looked even more excited, for her sake. “Oh, we haven’t even scratched the surface, Nicole.”

The driver Nicole raised an eyebrow, in curious approval. Some sort of movie critic, on the side? Guess hobbies other than murder was great to have. Wynonna noticed her wrists, sleeves pulled back. Same device Robert always had on, same fancy designs. The one on the right was simpler, with just a blade, retracted, and a small trigger to extend it open in the palm. The left was more complicated, with more crap attached to the gauntlet. Blade on the underside. Topside some sort of launcher, a small grappling hook to the right of it. A dart was already loaded in the launcher. A long band holding more darts and dart-sized knives was wrapped around her torso. Shoot and grapple off, Batman style. Ever heard of guns?

Wynonna glanced back to Jeremy, as he continued rambling on to Nicole. “Well, thanks, dude. Lucado was a real psycho.” She found a smile on her lips, relieved. “At least I’ll never see that stupid machine again, right? I spent every minute of the day hooked up to that thing.”

Rosita was rubbing awkwardly at her neck. Waverly’s eyes were trailing off just as uncomfortably. Wynonna groaned.

“Fuck me! What the hell’s so important about that stupid thing?”

The van was pulling to a stop. Still buried in a mess of trees, but Nicole put it in park.

“Hold that thought,” she said, moving to exit. As did Jeremy, and Waverly made to open the rear’s double doors.

“Wait, why the hell are we in a forest? Bit too cold for camping, don’t you think?”

Nicole glared at her, leaning over the driver’s seat. “You ask too many god damn questions for a high school drop out.”

Then she was off before Wynonna could give her two cents, and Waverly was letting her stay in the truck to change outfits. No protests; she was glad to quit the BBD Templar prison duds.

Outside, Nicole was doing the same, and Waverly was trying with every atom of her person not to _stare_ when her undershirt rode up, when Nicole eagerly removed her uniform jacket and tossed the thing aside. Rosita, limping with a permanent injury, angrily picked the thing up from where it landed on the ground. Then stopped to lecture the second she saw Nicole’s exposed arms.

“You didn’t tell me you were hurt!”

Nicole nonchalantly examined her forearms. Light knife grazes leaving a red trail. “They’re scratches. Who cares?” When she moved to toss on a black hoodie, Rosita confiscated the thing. Nicole’s already endless scowl deepened.

“I care.”

Rosita had Wynonna toss out the medical kit from the wide trunk, stacked against the wall with other items. Extra pairs of clothes, blankets, food. The name “Shae Pressman” was written and scratched out, while “Ewan Allenbauch” was scratched over multiple times, like a mad person had done it. Old friends?

Then Rosita was fighting to grab Nicole’s arm, who gave in about a second in. No point, she figured.

“Jeremy said it’s fine,” she defended. Rosita wasn’t moved.

“Well, _I’m_ Mentor, so what I say goes.”

“Oh, you’re Mentor? Really? You haven’t mentioned it half a dozen times!”

Nicole dropped the act again when Rosita shot her a look. Waverly noticed, in the past week she’d spent with them, how close they were. When Nicole was tense or up in arms about something, she always went to Rosita, Jeremy when he was here. He wasn’t with them for long, but he and Nicole still seemed close enough. Easy to be intimidated, feel like a total outsider. They’d certainly been through a lot, from what she could tell. Especially the way Nicole sometimes fussed over Rosita’s limp. And how Jeremy always managed to distract Nicole when she was mad about something. There were lots of things she didn’t like, and Waverly took note of every one of them.

“Well,” Nicole started again, “if I didn’t have to wear that stupid outfit, I guarantee I would’ve been fine. They’re too long, it’s hard to see, and it gets way too hot. What’s so wrong about wearing a regular jacket? Or a mask?”

She hissed when the alcohol pad touched her cuts, making an almost furious expression. Not her first injury, and Waverly knew she had a stubborn tendency to pretend she wasn’t hurt and go about as normal. Just like Wynonna.

“These uniforms are a statement,” Rosita explained, almost for the thousandth time. “They let the Templars know who we are, that we’re not common thieves or activists or thugs or what have you. It reminds them we’re still around.”

“Assassins are thugs, if not worse.” She hissed again as Rosita moved to the next graze. “We certainly kill a lot more people.”

By Rosita’s disinterested expression, she was done with this talk. “Stop complaining.”

Nicole rolled her eyes in defeat, looked off. Stopped, when she noticed Waverly staring at her biceps as they flexed. Waverly went red as Nicole quickly caught on and darted her eyes elsewhere. Nicole tried to think nothing of it. Not the first time she caught Waverly staring, and she’d be a hypocrite to criticize, to say she didn’t stare, too. Wasn’t sure if she hated it or loved it. There was no denying she felt a sort of connection with Waverly, even if the girl had only been here a week now. Something about her was special, and if Nicole wasn’t so occupied in this Templar crap, she’d certainly look further into it.

Wynonna emerged from the back, kicking the doors in an almost dramatic fashion that brought Nicole right back to angry glares and short tempers. It was her truck, damn it, even if it was an old heap of crap that ate gas like it was the hottest new drug.

“Why are you here if you hate the Assassins so much?” Wynonna was asking, having overheard with the open driver’s door. Nicole looked annoyed, snatching and throwing on her hoodie and over-the-shoulder weapon holsters messily as she walked off.

“If you plan to keep asking questions, direct your attention to Rosita. She’s Mentor; in charge.”

Jeremy followed her step, Rosita a second later. Wynonna only watched, until her sister motioned her along. Clearly used to all this already, what little tastes of it she’d had.

-

Nicole was walking ahead, almost impatiently, clearly eager to get to wherever their mystery forest hideout was. Rosita and Jeremy trailed behind, as fast as Rosita could go. No doubt it was some sort of super badass on-the-job injury she had. The Earps enjoyed each other’s company as they walked dead last, Waverly letting her sister have a moment to look around, take the place in, breathe. Waverly was here for some time already, but still had trouble believing it herself.

Wynonna eventually broke the silence between them, hushed under Jeremy’s rambling to Rosita, “How the hell did you end up with these clowns? I think I like your old friends better. And they sucked. Especially Champ.” She paused, and her eyes went wide. “If he’s here too, I’m leaving.”

Waverly laughed, and made it clear she and Champ were done the second Wynonna went missing. At first she was furious with Wynonna. It took a lot to get Gus to allow her to crash at the ranch (in the hope Wynonna would stick around longer), and she thought Wynonna snuck out for late night drinking. Gus did, too, and was ready to completely disown her. Curtis just passed, wasn’t in the mood for antics. Then Waverly discovered her jacket, phone, and switchblade. Three things she never parted with. Days passed. Police cared none, because Wynonna was technically a wanted criminal. And everyone hated her.

Waverly continued the investigation on her own. Left Champ the second he became an obstacle. So, quickly. Almost immediately. On the ranch, under the barn floorboards, Waverly discovered the secret room Curtis kept, as well as his affiliation with the Assassins. And how to contact them.

She finished, “They brought me here a week ago, and I’ve been helping them ever since.”

Wynonna ignored the need to lecture her sister on getting involved in all this, putting her life at risk. Right now she was just too happy to see her again. “Gus is okay, right?” she asked instead.

But then again Gus could probably defend herself against Templars with nothing more than her attitude and a frying pan.

“She’s fine,” Waverly promised. Was a little worried, because they’d been out of touch since Waverly arrived here, but she was also certain of Gus’s toughness.

Wynonna tugged at the duffel bag slung over her shoulder. The stuff she traveled with and brought when she visited, brought here by Waverly. Basically everything Wynonna Earp could put her name to was in that puny bag.

“Curtis is why I came back.” Waverly looked to her, curious for where this was going. “He told me everything. The Assassins, trying to help Willa—everything. I came back for you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Waverly didn’t look bothered. And if she was, she didn’t show it. Above all, she was just happy her sister was here, and alive. Fights could happen later. “It’s okay. You were trying to protect me. I can’t really be mad at that. I guess it makes us even; I’ll forget you and Curtis keeping me out of the loop, and you’ll be okay I did this.”

A cheeky smile Wynonna wanted to smack off. “I’m so totally _not_ okay with you joining a badly dressed cult, but fine. We’re even.” She smiled now, evil. “For now.”

Waverly got flashbacks of childhood antics. That time Wynonna made her drink grape soda until it came out of her nose. She shuddered. Wynonna grinned wider, eviler.

“Those guys are scary, though,” she admitted after a minute. Not to be taken for granted, because Wynonna Earp fears nothing and no one. “Especially Lucado and those god awful shoulder pads. Still though,” she looked to Waverly, who in turn looked back, “rather me than you in that stupid machine.”

Waverly fell serious, almost sad. Eyes trailing off unsurely. Wynonna inquired with a look, and Waverly sighed.

“So, they have records here,” Waverly started. “Tested, _verified_ records, and I wanted to know if I could help out. You know, take the load off of you. Jump into the Animus, like you.”

“And?” A hint of fear to Wynonna’s voice.

“I’m not an Earp. I’m adopted. Ward isn’t my father, and you’re not my sist—”

“Hey.” Wynonna took her _sister’s_ hand. “That doesn’t change anything, alright? Nothing. You’re my sister; blood doesn’t mean shit. Ward was blood and he was a total asshole.”

Waverly smiled. Everything people said about Wynonna back home was crap. Her heart was always in the right place. Maybe confused sometimes, but pure as they came. And, hopefully, willing to go through with all this.

-

More endless walking, more boring trees, vowels and syllables blasting from Jeremy’s flapping jaw. Ignoring him, it was a peaceful walk with Waverly. Wynonna was enjoying her sister’s company. And trying hard not to focus on what was about to come.

Then Nicole was stopping them suddenly, a frantic nerve to her voice as she dove from the way of a god damn _bear._

Waverly pulled a shotgun from her shoulder, something Wynonna didn’t register she had until she heard it cocking. She knew it was there, but didn’t realize it was _there._ What it _was._ Her sister, sweet little cheerleader Waverly, with an armed shotgun. Apparently ready to stand her ground. Damn these people! That was her baby sister, not a soldier!

Jeremy was stepping back, to join Waverly and Wynonna, tossing the bag hanging on his back to the ground and pulling a gun. One he surely made modifications to, because she’d never seen anything like it. Rosita was pulling a silenced pistol from one of the holsters on her waist, dropping Nicole’s Assassins uniform she insisted on carrying onto the ground. The second held the same, and a knife was strapped to her leg. Nicole, in the meantime, jumped back to her feet without missing a step. No guns on her person. Bunch of knife holsters and some extra darts for the launcher on her wrist gauntlet tool thing.

The bear charged for Nicole, Rosita trailing the gun on the beast, Waverly prepared if it got too close. Nicole dodged swiftly again. She loaded a thin knife from the holster strung across her torso into the the launcher on the back of her left hand, tossing the dart already waiting aside for now. She dodged again when the bear charged to hit her and knocked itself into a tree. Signaled Rosita to hold fire as she shot her own projectile blade into the bear’s eye. Kept running over. She tugged the release of her left wrist blade and revealed the knife within it, one true purpose and promise of death, and plunged it into the bear’s neck. She wrestled the dying animal to the ground, whispering in a soft, understanding tone.

“Calm, calm, shh. It’s over now.”

Nothing Wynonna was expecting. She noted how Nicole held eye contact with the beast until its life faded forever, from burning fury to a peaceful departure. Again, not what Wynonna was expecting. She painted Nicole a total asshole, not the person who shut an angry, rampaging bear’s eyes and apologized.

A collective breath as Nicole stood, still staring the grizzly down. Rosita’s pistol returned to its holster, Waverly’s shotgun to her shoulder. Wynonna rubbed the empty one appreciatively. Here she was, thinking _she_ was the one protecting Waverly. She guessed a lot could happen in two weeks.

Then Nicole was ripping through the peace as it tried to resettle, eyes digging into Rosita’s. Blade retracting and hiding again on release, obediently.

“You know you’re not supposed to make noise here,” Nicole lectured, and Wynonna was questioning who was really in charge the way Rosita didn’t respond, didn’t shut her down. Nicole raked Rosita over, then Jeremy, then Rosita again. “Keep your voices down next time, yeah?” She turned to continue on, sparing a glance at the downed bear, a guilty look to her features. “We have these rules for a reason.”

Off again, at her rapid pace, stench of dead bear hitting when they passed it by. Why did Nicole stare it down until it died? To be sure? To assert dominance? Was she some sort of sadist?

“Opinion on ginger Jessica Jones?” Wynonna asked, between her and Waverly. Waverly shook her head.

“If anyone’s Jessica Jones, it’s you, silly. Sometimes Nicole can be sweet. Otherwise she’s angry, like she’s frustrated with something. I know she’s not here because she wants to be; she doesn’t really have a choice. Well, it’s the short answer she gave when I asked her. That’s probably why she’s so on edge.”

Not here by choice. Wynonna could relate. The luxury of choice wasn’t something she typically had in life, and it looked the things that constantly screwed her over was related to this Templar-Assassins nonsense. Something told her she’d be just as on edge as Nicole.

-

Some sort of summer camp-looking setup, complete with a mess hall and showers. Across the way a smaller structure, entryway leading further into the earth. A mine? The trees were dramatically lesser here, a more open space easier to navigate than the maze they’d just left and gotten lost in one or two times. Some looked to be trimmed down, too, proved later by the axe responsible sitting in a stump. A tall cliff, some ropes dangling down. Assassins did love their parkour.

Nicole immediately rushed into the mine, opening a prison cell-looking barred door and clicking her tongue at something. Wynonna saw the smile of a child on her face as a four-legged orange furball darted out, circling Nicole and climbing up in her lap. She blinked twice, twice again, twice more. This was the same person from before, right? With the sour face and sour attitude? Giggling and rolling in the snow with a friggin’ cat as orange as her hair? Was this still a simulation? Any minute Lucado would pull her out and yell “April Fools!” right? Did they _dimension_ hop?

“But she’s really cute with her cat,” Waverly added from earlier on, catching the lost look on her sister.

“I guess so,” she mumbled.

The cat scurried off as they approached, Nicole following with a cat toy in hand. Twenty minutes ago was all Mortal Kombat with a bear.

Good length halls in the mine. Not too long, but enough to make Wynonna impatient. Too much cardio today, especially after two weeks of complete nothing. Further frustrations, at the sight of this team’s underground setup. Laptops on tables that looked broken off from something else, a couple split even and in the process of being converted into imitation work desks. Definitely taken from the mess hall. Cords everywhere, connected to three different generators. The Animus, Lucado’s mind fuck machine, sitting against the furthest wall, identical to a fancy lawn chair. BBD’s Animus was plain gray, shaped like a dining table at first glance. The Assassins model was a more stylized chair with blue padding, and certainly looked a hell of a lot more comfortable. Now what were they going to do with it?

“Can I finally ask about—” Wynonna gestured vaguely, indicating everything possible “—all of this crap now?”

Jeremy answered before Rosita could, already on his way to the Animus, snagging a small toolbox on the way. “Before I left BBD, I stole their schematics and built my own Animus!” A beaming smile. “Mine’s better. No overheating, better look, better visual quality, feels better on the butt—”

“You better disinfect that thing,” Wynonna grumbled.

Rosita moved her to one of the knockoff work desks, a laptop she recognized as Waverly’s in front of her. Piles of papers, too, in her girly writing. Notes with dates, pictures of historical figures. Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp, most notably. She glared to Waverly, who was leaning against the same table.

“What the sweet hell is this?” she asked. Waverly looked to Rosita for help. Wynonna shot up to her feet. “No, tell me the truth, now. What the hell is the Animus and what the hell was it I was seeing? Why’re you people so interested in my family?”

She was shrugging Waverly’s calming hand off, silencing whatever lame thing she was going to say about taking it easy. Staring down Rosita when she pulled up a seat. Trailed her as she lowered to sit.

“And don’t you _dare_ say I’m the chosen one,” Wynonna added.

“Have you ever heard of Wyatt Earp’s ride to Purgatory?”

Several times, in that broken simulation. She didn’t answer. To her, the answer felt stupidly obvious. Besides, _she_ was the one not in the know, out of the loop. _You tell me!_ sort of thing. Rosita was more expressive than Nicole. It was clear she saw Wynonna’s faltering of the tough guy act. Especially the way her shoulders dropped. Softening, because the last two weeks was the most miserable time of her life—already a busy competition there—and thinking of it was enough to make her want to scream at the heavens for cursing her.

“What about Sheriff Clootie?”

That one Wynonna wasn’t aware of. She relived that same scene over and over again, so that weird, random data jumping stood out further. All the things she’d see through Wyatt’s eyes. She pieced it together, easy. The guy who held Robert hostage, right? Had to be. He was scary enough to be important in this.

“I don’t know,” she huffed, moving to sit again. “I failed history three times. That’s Waverly’s department.” She eyed the notes, then her sister. “Clearly.”

Waverly gave a pleading smile. Wasn’t effective. Wynonna was definitely kicking her ass after this.

Rosita looked over Jeremy in the corner. Putting finishing touches on their replica, humming and dancing to himself. He had Indian in those veins, but not the Bollywood part. Looks like they were getting boring office jobs after this, nothing as exciting as the arts. She was considering how to begin with this, eventually looking away from Jeremy’s distracting motions and noises.

Rosita didn’t unpack the suitcase carefully. She turned it over and dumped everything, then kicked it down the stairs.

Assassins and Templars, at each other’s throats for centuries. Assassins fighting for peace among humanity, Templars believing humanity too weak-willed and corrupt and chaotic and in need of control. Free will, stripped. Using the mystical Pieces of Eden and their magical capabilities to do so.

They were on a clock. The Black Division opened long ago, intended on fighting for good but now fighting for evil. Originally established by Teddy Roosevelt for the Assassins, until decades later when the Templars took it over. Now using its resources to experiment on people. Wyatt Earp wasn’t an Assassin himself, but knew Robert Svane, who currently has no known descendants. He was close to the case. This search, this race, was for Clootie’s enchanted rings. The one he owned as well as the ones his three wives owned. All lost to time, best bet resting in the genes of the Earp family.

The Animus examines and creates a visual of the memories stored in genes in VR. A high stakes video game, essentially. Josiah and Edwin Earp went untouched by the Templars. The rings were a recent discovery. BBD sent seven people to the Earp homestead. Gather the Earps, use their knowledge. They managed Willa, Wynonna accidentally killed Ward. Assassins, on BBD’s tail, jumped in much too late and held them off. Cops rolled in soon, so they all left without a trace. The Seven escaped with scratches, nothing more. Twelve-year-old Wynonna, deemed crazy as they watched her sob by Ward’s corpse. Wyatt Earp’s passed-down gun in hand. Christened “Peacemaker”, but it ruined her life.

Rosita was asking, practically begging, Wynonna to get the missing items. Clootie’s ring was theirs. He was in this mine, ring on finger. Unclear who might’ve moved him. The place was rigged with traps and other abnormalities, too, when they first arrived. Wyatt rode to Purgatory with Robert, and he killed Clootie in the first place. Odds were he met Constance and her sister-wives as well. BBD might not have a way to search with Willa’s death and Wynonna’s escape, but they still had enough resources to keep digging and poking around in rumored sites. It would take years instead of days or weeks, but they had the numbers and the time. The near-extinct Assassins did not.

Of course Wynonna wasn’t interested. That machine wasn’t something she wanted to enter ever again. She didn’t owe the Assassins anything—they failed her family on multiple occasions. It’d be nice to kick Lucado’s ass, but frankly it wasn’t worth the gamble. But then Waverly was going on and on about how she’d be able to record this undocumented event of Wyatt’s life. Research she spent years on, because she believed he was her background and wanted to learn _everything._ At least her work and passion wouldn’t go to waste now. Unless Wynonna refused. And _boy_ did she want to. This was crazy! Some stupid, elaborate prank, complete with costumes and a dancing Jeremy in the corner, and oddly childish Nicole playing with a cat outside. But there was that stupid look. That look in Waverly’s eyes. Of pure joy. Nicest person in Purgatory, sure, but she certainly wasn’t as happy herself. All an act, in Wynonna’s opinion, a big deflection of the things eating away at her at night. Personally, she was a pro in that department. She couldn’t disappoint Waverly, but she didn’t want to stay, either. So why the hell did she nod and agree when Rosita asked if she was in? Did she blackout or something?

Rosita was standing and smiling gratefully. “Great. Once our Animus is stable, we can dive right in.”

 _By ‘we’ you mean ‘me’,_ Wynonna thought.

“But for now, we can grab some dinner. We picked up some takeout.”

Wynonna stopped, “Wait, what? You stopped for takeout? In the middle of a rescue mission?”

Rosita was nodding. Waverly shrugged, “What? It was on the way.”

-

One more thing before food. It’d gone cold anyhow, so Rosita sent Jeremy to heat it up. A quick tour in the meantime, probably to let Wynonna feel at ease. She went along, knowing full and well only a bottle of whiskey could ease her out right now. Especially after Rosita called Nicole over to walk with them. She’d been chopping wood and whistling some song like a merry lumberjack, cat sitting next to her, staring at a bird above. Ready to kill. Probably had her own hidden blade, too.

Nicole took the exposition reins a bit, explaining the truck was parked so far off to keep BBD from tracking them here. If they should find here, at all. Trees helped keep it hidden, and if someone should stumble across it there were no tracks leading back to the mine, and the thing could be deemed simply abandoned. Explained because Wynonna complained about all the walking. Finished with something about "walking trumps dying after slowly descending into madness". No jokes, with this one. Maybe that blade on her wrist was too tight.

“So when’s office hours?” Wynonna was asking. She watched that cat sit by the mess hall’s door, staring down Jeremy. Telekinetic feline? “Maybe me and Wave can stay at the homestead.”

Or, honestly, anywhere but a mine. With strangers. And BBD most definitely searching for them. With no indoor heating.

“Nope,” Nicole refused, sticking hands into her pants pockets. She changed into sweats while the others were in the mine. Out of the crimson colored pair matching her uniform from earlier. “You’re crashing here now.”

“What?” Wynonna was stopping their slow pace, and Nicole followed. With a frustrated breath. “Why’s that?”

Nicole cocked her head, like the answer was so simple. “If you get nabbed by Templars at the super market, we’re all screwed.”

Staring again, to assert dominance or express her impatience. Rosita was stepping forward to defuse the tension. Blocking Nicole, like she’d actually do something to Wynonna. And Wynonna was, truly, the chosen one, so now she was as sensitive and precious as a glass baby.

“It’s safer if you stay here,” voice much nicer than Nicole’s. “They know who you are now, so you’re a target.”

Nicole cocked her head in the other direction, to meet Wynonna’s gaze again, past Rosita’s smaller form. “Big target.”

So they got her acquainted with the land. No official history known. Other than someone hiding Sheriff Clootie’s body here, with the ring, and leaving traps. Some basic tripwires, others unexplainable forces. Probably thanks to his ring. But then why leave it? And why move him in the first place?

The educated guess was a rich company’s old mine, looking for the usual stuff. The place was in the middle of nowhere, so they built a small living facility around it. This way workers could take longer hours and not waste time going home and back. Easily, it rubbed Wynonna the wrong way. This place was a prison, essentially.

“ ‘Cause who needs to spend time with their family, right?” she scoffed. Nicole’s stern expression softened, because she agreed.

“We have power,” Nicole kept tour-guiding, “with solar-powered generators. Jeremy rigged up the plumbing, too.” She pointed to the largest building and the smaller next to it. “Mess hall, showers.” She paused, and looked to a destroyed pile of rubble on the mess’s right. “Bunks.”

“Of course,” Waverly said for her sister. She was never the camping type. Sleeping on a clunky old mattress on the ground in an unheated building during Purgatory’s brutal Autumn wasn’t to her forte.

“So,” Wynonna crossed her arms where they stood and stared, “ _not_ a five-star hotel?”

Nicole shrugged. “Around the two-three range.”

“Totally uncool.”

A sigh. “Tell me about it.” Nicole moved them along again, back for the mess hall. “Stoves work in the mess, water runs in the showers. I moved some of the beds around—the ones I could get to. Best if you stay in the mine, so we can keep an eye on you.”

“Wouldn’t want to get assassinated,” Wynonna mumbled.

Stopping at the mess now, on the raised deck. Snow brushing over, with little paw prints scattered. Some fresh, as the feline responsible scurried off again when Jeremy joined them. Bowl of shrimp fried rice in his hands. Wynonna was eyeing him.

“Where the hell do you get food? Takeout every day? Didn’t think Uber sent their drivers to secret organizations.”

“The more expensive things,” Nicole explained, “I stole. Like those fancy generators, and my truck. The—”

“You _stole_ those generators? I thought you were supposed to be the good guys.”

Another sigh. “Sometimes you have to make tough choices.” Nicole looked to Rosita, almost mad at something. Something between them, aside from the something or everything she was already mad about. “That’s what I was told about killing, anyway.”

Rosita shook her head. Silently telling Nicole to drop whatever fight she was stirring. So Nicole huffed again and looked off, nowhere in particular. Just anywhere away from Rosita.

Rosita pushed the drama aside, “Jeremy takes trips into town and does some shopping. After he hacks BBD accounts.”

Attention on him, as he chewed away at his dinner. Damn did he look satisfied with himself. “I take small amounts from multiple accounts, so they don’t notice easily.” Smiling proud, and luckily his mouth and teeth were absent of stray food.

“And he totally loves taking that long walk to the truck twice a month,” Nicole added. No life in her tone, so Wynonna wasn’t sure if it was sarcasm. Jeremy caught on.

“No, I really do. It keeps me fit.”

Wynonna examined him. “I would’ve never guessed or noticed.” She looked back to the woman in charge. “Wouldn’t he be recognized?”

“The Templars fired Jeremy in the first place, when he couldn’t stomach what they were doing with their human experiment program. They don’t know he’s working with the Brotherhood or giving away all their secrets. They only know Nicole and I. Their mistake, thinking him a brainless lackey.”

“I’m their worst nightmare, now!” Jeremy happily cheered.

Nicole crossed her arms. “Of course, we’re on a clock, though. And if they find us here, we’re done for; not much to hide behind, almost nowhere to run.”

Wynonna frowned at her. “Seriously, worst summer camp ever.”

“Well, lucky you, it’s a short stay. Willa’s work and Waverly’s research helped us narrow down what we need to a specific point in Wyatt’s life. Get in, get out, and we can go home.” She began to walk off, for the mess’s interior. “Finally.”

Jeremy followed her in, but Wynonna was standing on the deck still, Rosita waiting back to answer more questions. Waverly here to keep her grounded. And because she planned on never leaving her side again.

“She needs to relax,” Wynonna said to Rosita. “From her bad Batman impersonation to Jeremy’s awkward everything, I’m starting to think you guys have cabin fever.”

Rosita flashed a friendly grin. “I promise you, Nicole means well. She’s just tired of all this.”

“How long have you been here? With the Assassins?”

“Jeremy’s been with the Brotherhood for a few days now. I joined when I was a teenager.” She indicated herself. “Car accident, only survivor. But Nicole’s been here since she was three. Her parents quit when they had her, but Templars found and killed them anyway, for information. Our Creed is all she knows, and she’s never wanted it. I know she can be difficult sometimes, and I know it’s not an excuse, but she’s had a tough life. Our Mentor did not treat her well. Please just bear with her. She has a good heart.”

Rough life and being pissed at the world: concepts Wynonna Earp was wildly, intimately familiar with. Like an old ex she couldn’t stop running to, even if she knew it sucked and shouldn’t be eating up her mind space.

They moved to enter, Waverly happily fantasizing aloud about the dumplings they’d ordered. She spent some time describing them to Wynonna when they were waiting on Nicole to join them for this tour, hyping it up like it was the next big Marvel movie. New place, a new family in town, and _damn_ did they know what they were doing. Fit to be millionaires, soon.

Only to find Jeremy and Nicole arguing. Their food containers spread about one of the only few tables put together, destroyed halves sitting in the mine or simply destroyed for whatever other reasons.

“She ate _all_ the dumplings!” Jeremy tattled.

Waverly practically yelled in fury. They all stared at Nicole, her eyes wide. Then suddenly she was running off, out through the back door. Like human, like cat.

-

The Earps sat on the deck of the raised mess hall, one of the broken wooden tables inside converted into a bench with some adjustments. Waverly said Nicole was really getting into woodworking lately, among the other things she kept herself distracted with.

Currently, she was chopping away at the designated block. Up and down the axe in a smooth, practiced motion. Almost no effort, because this was something she did often. Her cat next to her, clawing at a butterfly, Nicole whistling the same song as before. Waverly staring, in a gaze almost hypnotic. If Wynonna wasn’t greedily downing rice, chow mein, chickens, shrimps, she would’ve noticed her sister’s absent trance. BBD, with all their fancy funds, served crappy meals. But they were close enough to hear that song, and she wasn’t much too distracted to wonder.

“What is her deal?” she asked, pausing only to push vegetables with her fork. “And that song, too. She’s been at it for like ten minutes now.”

Waverly was setting aside her plate. All vegetables, hers and the ones Wynonna slyly tossed over, gone. “They make ten minute songs.”

“Yeah, but who’s got the time?” Fork shoving a mess of mixed food into her mouth.

“She sings it a lot, so I imagine it’s important.” Wynonna nodded. Waverly stared off in Nicole’s direction again. She stared to sing, herself, hushed between them. “ _Today I was an evil one, who suffered dumbly having fun. Tomorrow God will make me good, if I allow her to, she would_.”

Wynonna looked back at her, mouth full, and she shrugged.

“I googled the lyrics.”

Wynonna exhaled a laugh, because _of course_ she did. “Opinion on all this? You really trust these guys? The whole thing sounds shady to me.”

Waverly sat back, sighed. “It’s a lot to take in. It sounded crazy—it _is_ crazy—at first, but then I saw Clootie’s ring. And Clootie himself, in the mine. Before Nicole got freaked out and buried him somewhere else.” She looked to her sister, too invested in her answer to attend to practically swallowing her food whole. “I held the ring, Wynonna. I could _feel_ . . . something. Something I can’t explain—and I can speak four languages!”

Wynonna had a disturbing feeling. She thought of what she’d seen. Robert Svane, hostage. Sheriff Clootie, gunman. The ring on his finger. Big black rock on it. Wyatt’s fear. Wyatt staring more at the ring than his partner. That indescribable _something._

Pure evil.

“What did it look like?” She had to know. Surely Rosita had the thing locked down now. And a part of her didn’t want to see it, hold it.

“Kind of bulky. Black diamond. Kind of heavy, actually.”

Wynonna remembered it, again. That twisted look in Clootie’s eyes. The devil and all his temptations, wrapped in nothing more than a look. All of Wyatt’s victories and successes draining from him as he pulled the trigger. And Robert, screaming. She felt sick to her stomach, and suddenly her appetite was gone. What the hell was she agreeing to, here?

-

They had a movie night, because, well, assassins were universally known for getting together with popcorn and candy and soda. A projector was hooked up in the mess hall, rigged up to a gaming console. Only one corner, closest to the kitchen, was dedicated for meals. A single table, others broken down and moved to the mine or burned as wood in a campfire, like the controlled one burning inside right now. The rest of the small building’s small space was dedicated to training. There was a ripped up old mat the cat loved to scratch, a punching bag, some weight sets. Stolen or purchased with BBD funds. A VR set linked to the console, with some real knives and daggers resting next to it. A couple gun-shaped controllers, too, of multiple sizes. Jeremy probably wrote some program for Nicole.

Nicole, who was continuing to completely throw off Wynonna. The movie Jeremy popped in was an old spy movie, to prove what he said earlier on the drive here. Then he was saying next week they’d go to musicals. What was her investment in movies? And, currently, _candy_ of all things? Jeremy was handing over SweeTarts, Airheads, Red Vines—then Twizzlers, because she said she liked them better. He even explained the taste of the other two, why he liked them so much. Rosita said Nicole was here since she was three. Nicole didn’t want to be here. Stole that truck. Try to run away at some point? Was this her way of catching up to what she’d undoubtedly lost in her abnormal life? Because _damn_ was she giddy to explore _candy_ of all things.

Wynonna couldn’t focus on the movie, as much as she missed them. She just lay there, on the mattress below her, blankets on top, staring at the fire. Shadows dancing against the wall and over the projected film. Trying to take in today, the last two weeks, all of this insanity. She wasn’t ready for something like this. Ask anyone—she was the town screw-up! Now she was supposed to help them find some mystical rings? Fight an endless war? Face Clootie as Wyatt? Use that stupid machine? Were they dumb or just _that_ desperate?

-

_September 28, 2016_

Back into the mine, to settle in for the night. Nicole on the mess hall’s porch, watching over them for danger. Later Rosita would swap shifts and she and her cat would turn in, too. Waverly wasn’t usually asleep by then, too stressed over Wynonna. Nicole always brought her tea, and her cat would keep Waverly company as she looked over research notes for the billionth time.

Not tonight. Tonight Wynonna was here, safe, giving her a goodnight kiss like they were still kids. Tucking her in, too. Waverly nodded off, easy, though not for long. When she woke again, sometime after one in the morning, some force in the universe urging her to get up, she noticed Wynonna, gone. Duffel bag, gone. Boots stepping off in the echoes of the mine.

Now, outside, she was frozen. Watching Wynonna leave, as she always seemed to, the dim moonlight covering her tracks nicely. This was a sight she was used to. So why was she so hurt?

Across the way Nicole had been fiddling with her wrist blade, sharpening it at first, then absentmindedly clicking it open and closed. Trying not to think of all those she’d killed with the Brotherhood’s most traditional weapon alone. She loathed the Assassins, and she loathed killing, but it felt the stupid weapon practically sewn onto her wrist was the only constant in her rocky life.

She returned to reality when her cat spotted Wynonna, walking off. Ran off for Wynonna, who was startled and cursed and almost fell over herself. Nicole didn’t notice, didn’t feel the urge just yet to drag Wynonna by her Hollywood curls back into the mine. The only way she could quit the Assassins was by completing this mission. She needed Wynonna to do so. But, for once, she wasn’t thinking about that right now. She was staring at Waverly, frozen in time at the mine entrance. Heartbroken, but not one to stop someone from what they most desired. Nicole knew she wasn’t so kind. And rushed over to Wynonna.

Wynonna was jumping again, startled a second time. She was almost angry with it. “First your pussycat, now you!”

Nicole waved the cat off. “Jane, go away.” But she was a cat, so of course she didn’t listen. Nicole ignored it, turned to Wynonna. “Where are you going?”

“Laundromat,” she lied. “My socks are _ripe_.”

“You said you’d stay.”

Wynonna looked fit to burst, the stress building up finally beginning to overload. The duffel bag fell from her shoulder. “I can’t do this! Willa could. Waverly can, if she could. Your fucking cat would do better than me! I’m a fuck up! I can’t do anything, never mind be some hero! You’re making a huge mistake. I can’t even access Wyatt’s memories—just the same one, over and over again! Where will you go with that?”

“We’ll handle it. Just trust us.”

“Hell no, you guys are shady as shit! How can I trust you? I don’t even know you! I barely know your cat’s name!”

Nicole was nodding, considering something. Then pointing to the cat, sniffing at Wynonna’s bag. The sock thing was no joke. “Calamity Jane.”

“Your cat’s name is—”

“Rosita Bustillos, Mentor. Biochemistry expert, not great in the field, long before she was injured. Templar Grand Master Moody shot her in the knee, and now she can’t walk properly.”

“I guess you can say she used to be an adventurer, until she took an arrow to the—”

“Jeremy Chetri, former Black Badge as of thirteen days ago. He saw their human experimentation program and spoke against it, so they fired him. He knows how to do just about everything but shoot.”

“What about turning off his babbling, huh?”

Nicole’s hand was on her own chest. “Nicole Haught. Designated field woman. Hates the Assassins. Tried leaving but stayed to help Rosita when everything went to shit, because Rosita’s my best friend and I want her away from this crap. I’ve been here since I was three, and I think I’ll be here until I finally die. I want to finish this so I can finally have a life.” She crossed her arms. “Is that enough for you?”

“Plenty.” Wynonna reached for her bag, “We’re practically best friends now, and everything’s fine!”

A fake smile, then she was off again. Nicole allowed two steps out of her, before pulling out the big guns.

“Do you have any idea what Waverly went through to get you back here?”

Wynonna stopped, spun around.

Continuing, “She didn’t sleep for eight days straight. The only word that left her lips was ‘Wynonna’. And now you’ll leave her. Again.” A scoff, a slight look of disgust. “She is too good for you.”

Wynonna was stomping back over, bag lost in her speed. Nicole wasn’t the least bit intimidated. Pleased, maybe, because she was winning.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Wynonna could’ve yelled, but attracting any more attention would further blow this sinking ship into the depths. “Waverly deserves a five-story mansion in the Bahamas and a sky-high pile of gold and _everything_ she wants. Not a mine, playing a part in some stupid war with the worst possible combination of people and the worst possible odds! If I stay, she’ll stay, and she’ll get herself killed.”

“Waverly doesn’t need you to decide to stay. I don’t think you understand how invested in this she is. She wants to help. She wants to do something bigger than being a barmaid in some shitty small town. You leaving’s only bound to ruin her focus. Then you’ll be buying another bus ticket back here for another funeral.”

“You don’t get to—”

“Not to mention those fucking rings. If BBD gets their mitts on them, you can forget your sister, permanently. They’ve been trying to perfect super soldiers for years now. Experimenting, illegally. You want to talk shady shit? That’s it. We think one of those rings grants eternal longevity and cures diseases. Imagine soldiers who don’t age and don’t get sick. Think she’ll be safe when BBD sells those secrets to the highest bidder?”

Wynonna was trying to match the intensity of Nicole’s stare. “Yeah? Like you guys are better? What’ll happen if you guys get your hands on it? Hide it in a safe you’re _sure_ no one will get into? Newsflash: people like me take safes as a challenge.”

“Rosita wants to lock them up and bury them. I plan on destroying them. I’m not stupid. I know keeping them is dangerous. Uh, not that Rosita is stupid.”

The evil, the fear, she felt from looking at Clootie’s ring alone, destroyed, never to be felt by anyone. Wynonna stepped back, a little shocked. Duh, Nicole wasn’t following protocol from the people she hated, but it was still not what was expecting. Again.

“But,” Nicole said, more relaxed, “go ahead and leave. Waverly’s a big girl, right? Go ahead and run because you’re afraid. Have a nice life.”

Wynonna was grabbing her bag again, slower. Thinking. Fighting her flight response. “Thanks.”

But she didn’t move. She didn’t want to stay. Didn’t want to leave, either. Nicole was walking back to the mine. Wynonna was still. She flinched slightly when Nicole turned around, sudden, probably to drop the act Wynonna’d won and physically drag her back into the mine. No, not with the calm way she walked back. Pulling something out of her boot.

“Waverly found this, at the homestead. I swiped it when everyone was settling in for the night. Maybe it’ll keep us from having to rescue you again in the future.”

Wynonna was hesitant to grab it. Her fingers jumped at the cold metal, both from the weather and the knowledge of all those it’d killed in its time. Wyatt Earp’s Colt Buntline Special. Christened “Peacemaker”. He was deemed a hero for killing all those outlaws, on purpose. She was deemed crazy for killing her father, accidentally. A chilling reminder of where she came from, and where she was bound to go. Where she _thought_ she was bound to go.

After a moment, Wynonna looked to Nicole. “What, you’ve just been walking around with Wyatt’s gun?”

“I was ninety percent sure this exact scenario was going to happen.”

“Wow, thanks for the confidence.”

“I was right, though.”

“Why are you giving this to me?”

“To remind you where you come from. _You,_ not your ancestor.”

A short pause, to let the words sink in. “If you think this is going to get me to stay—”

“I was hoping Waverly would. It’s just a stupid gun, isn’t it?”

“And Waverly is Waverly.”

Nicole nodded, then she was off again. “Just choose, fast. It’s about Rosita’s shift, and she cares about you and this much more than I do.”

Something told Wynonna that wasn’t true.

She looked at the gun. Remembered the confidence in Wyatt’s soul when it shot. The fear when it was aimed at Clootie. The fear when she aimed at Ward. This gun was the answer to destruction. She couldn’t let that happen again. Not to Waverly. The Earps weren’t about to be screwed over again by whatever dark curse loomed over them. This gun was going to do good, for once, as was Wynonna. For Waverly.

-

Nicole’s fingers were opening and closing, squeezing and releasing, like she was holding a stress ball. The hidden blade on her left wrist, opening, closing. Greeting the moonlight, leaving the moonlight. A smartphone in her right hand, feeding off the currently unused bandwidth and presenting another piece of media. Rosita was late. Tonight she agreed to take on the bulk of the nightshift, because earlier today Nicole was running around BBD headquarters, knocking down guard after guard to rescue Wynonna like a one-woman army. And tousled with a bear. But she didn’t mind. Rosita worked hard. And she was determined to catch up with the rest of the world. Twenty-three years she’d been with the Brotherhood. Clicking the blade open for real use. Only reading their books, on how better to use it, though killing seemed such a simple, thoughtless concept. Never understanding what a television was when Rosita brought it up because she missed it, or movies or sweets or video games.

The first time she tried to watch a movie she was caught. Sneaking out with a friend she’d known longer than Rosita, Shae Pressman. Now deceased. Mentor made them run laps until their lungs nearly collapsed, and all hopes of doing actual human teenager stuff was out the door.

Then Jeremy arrived here. He made one of his references, and Nicole mentioned she’d never seen a film in her life. He was determined to fix that. When he was settling into the mine with all his personal and stolen tech, he brought a box filled to the brim with movies and video games, as well as his Playstation 4. Not to mention what he had downloaded. Not much else to do, right?

She was in the middle of the third _Harry Potter_ when Calamity Jane was jumping off their bench and greeting someone. Nicole didn’t have to look up. Jane hissed at Jeremy, cared none for Rosita, and purred at Waverly. Nicole paused the movie.

“It’s late.”

And Waverly was usually the type to be fast asleep by nine. On the few nights she didn’t stay up, stressing about Wynonna, sleep finally catching up on her. Earlier she rushed back into the mine and faked slumber so Wynonna would think she almost got away with sneaking out unnoticed. The second Wynonna started snoring, Waverly sprung up and out here, to Nicole.

Nicole looked up, as Waverly lifted Calamity Jane and scratched her head, the cat purring away. Waverly’s trillion dollar smile greeting her. Always made Nicole want to melt.

Waverly glanced at the phone, easily recognizing the film in a second. “I always thought you were a Griffindor.”

Nicole was glancing at it, too, then back to Waverly. Feeling those weird nerves again. Every time she talked with her. “I kind of thought I was . . . uh, the snake?”

Waverly smiled wider, “Slytherin.”

“Yeah. And don’t tell me werewolves are real.”

“Not as far as I know.” Then Waverly was stepping closer. “I saw what you did.”

Hands up in surrender, “I won’t touch the dumplings next time, I sw—”

“No, not that.” Waverly set Jane down, who resettled in Nicole’s lap. Nicole’s hand fell naturally to her back and started petting. “With Wynonna. I know she can be—”

“You don’t have to thank me, really. It’s not a big deal.”

Yes it was. And Nicole knew it.

“It’s a huge deal. Honestly, I think I’m a little too used to her leaving. All those times she said she was going to leave Purgatory, all those times she tried to leave, and the one time she actually did. Then she went missing, and—” She stopped herself. “Just, thank you, Nicole.”

Waverly knew a thing or two or eight or twenty about history. Rise and fall of empires. Several social injustices that only kept reoccurring through the decades, some still ongoing. Discoveries that stumped historians to this day. Humanity’s greatest achievements. Humanity’s ugliest moments. Epic romantic gestures. And now, knowing Assassins and Templars helped spearhead half those things, she felt she’d seen everything. Couldn’t be surprised anymore. Then she saw Nicole Haught, smiling at her. And realized there was still so much left to see. To do. To learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing for WE because I can say things like “wrist gauntlet tool thing” and it be perfectly acceptable.
> 
> Nicole’s song: [Today I Was An Evil One, Bonnie "Prince" Billy](https://youtu.be/1yOpZS091LY)
> 
> This one won’t update as frequently as my last AU did, because this one’s definitely trickier to write, and I want longer chapters here. Second chapter might be up soon, and maybe shorter, and will go more into detail of the mission and the historical aspects and what they’ll look into (AKA I haven’t finished that part yet and didn’t want to overload the first chapter with an ass load of details). In chapter three we’ll dive into the good stuff. I might post previews on my Tumblr, @stinging-scorpion, if you’re into that kinda stuff.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, always appreciate it. (And God save us during 303 today, Jesus)
> 
> Fun fact: Chantel Riley plays Layla in AC Origins and upcoming Odyssey. Holy crap.


	2. His History, Her Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun, short little chapter before we totally dive in here. I really feel this is a bit like a part two to chapter one.
> 
> I did remove some timestamps from last chapter, because I felt like they were popping up waaay too often. Rather have them in important, bigger skips. Again, still kinda playing around with it. Still seein' where it goes.

_September 30, 2016_

“Please stop hovering.”

Jeremy’s focus left the small stove and its sizzling contents for Nicole, Calamity Jane perched on her shoulder like a bird. Staring at Jeremy, like she was bound to kill him. Nicole’s eyes were fixed on the breakfast he was cooking up, same killer look on her face.

“I’m not hovering,” Nicole defended, a total lie. “Or is that another tall joke?”

Jeremy wasn’t amused, turning back to the food. “You guys are getting cat hair everywhere. All over my clean kitchen!”

Nicole was looking to her pet, reaching up to scratch behind her ears. “You heard him, little lady, time to go.”

Calamity Jane only meowed in response, as if to argue.

“Well,” Nicole replied, as if the sound was its own translatable language, “you’re a little ball of fluff. Not my fault you shed so much.”

“You’re being impatient,” Jeremy said again as he flipped some pancakes over. “Just give it a minute.”

Nicole indicated her forearms, thin red scratches still present. “Be nice to me, I’m hurt.”

Jeremy turned off the stove, and Nicole’s eyes lit up in excitement.

“You seemed just fine yesterday, when you went climbing up the cliffside.”

He handed over the breakfast, and Nicole eagerly snatched it. “Climbing relaxes me,” she defended again.

Then she was off to feast, sitting on the ground next to the mess hall’s one table. The last of the broken down sets was burning in the fire behind where Waverly sat, alone. Eating an older stack of pancakes and looking over research notes, piping hot tea a safe distance away. Nicole booted up one of Jeremy’s three laptops, connected to the projector from yet another movie night, and launched a game. Swatted her cat away when she lingered too close to the food. A known thief, Jane was, acting like Nicole didn’t feed her at all.

Minutes later Wynonna strode inside and roamed about the campfire, complaining this place was bound to give her frostbite, soon. Bid her sister good morning as she tapped her pencil absently, inspected Nicole as she tapped at keys lively. Eyed the projector, than her breakfast. Calamity Jane staring, inches away, tail sweeping the ground left and right.

“You’re almost twenty-six,” she started, to Nicole, “and you’re eating grilled cheese sandwiches for breakfast?”

Nicole was too focused on in-game combat to eye Wynonna back. “What’s wrong with grilled cheese?”

Wynonna crossed her arms, “Seriously? You’re joking.”

Nicole shook her head, dead serious. “I don’t joke about grilled cheese.”

“You are a child.” She eyed the game projected against the flat wall. A little difficult to see with the morning sunlight bleeding in. “More so because you’re playing video games.”

Nicole scoffed.

Without looking up, turning a page in her notebook, Waverly warned, “Frost Troll on your left.”

Nicole gasped and commanded her character to defend herself. _Fus Ro Dah!_ and the monster clouding the whole screen was blasted away. Still, a different enemy shot Nicole’s character in the back with an arrow, and she died.

“Hey,” Wynonna moved to sit opposite from Waverly’s side, close to Nicole, “I know this game! _‘Skyrim’_ , or something, right?”

Nicole eyed her curiously, taking a bite from one of her sandwiches. Waverly was doing the same.

“I didn’t take you as a gamer,” Waverly said.

“I’m not. Someone I stayed with for a bit in Greece was, though.” She looked back to the screen, as Nicole re-entered the same encounter as before. Learned the hard way to save often. “Played this one a lot. So did I, because dragons, hello! Dragons are awesome.”

Wynonna snickered when Nicole died again, this time because a dragon popped out of literal nowhere and killed her low-level character in one hit. Back to the loading screen, and she bit into her sandwiches again.

“But I did not suck as much as Haught.” Wynonna teased.

Nicole offered the laptop. “Play if you’re so good, then.”

“Nah, I’d rather watch you suck dragon dick.”

Nicole looked her over once before turning to sit normal, resuming her millionth try of taking out this area’s bandits. She retorted, “I’m more of a dragon _pussy_ type of gal.”

Waverly choked on her tea, instantly, and Nicole died again at the sound. Before Wynonna could comment, Jeremy was delivering a second batch of pancakes to the second Earp, who eyed the stack murderously.

“You should block more, Nicole,” he said. She huffed in frustration, charging into that bandit camp yet again.

“Why would I block when I have a giant sword and dragon powers?” she asked, slightly frustrated. Jeremy surrendered, walked back into the kitchen. Stubborn, but she’d succeed eventually. Maybe.

“Y’know,” Wynonna was saying as she eagerly cut into her breakfast, “this might _not_ be the worst summer camp ever.” Shoved a forkload into her mouth. “If you ignore the cold and no heating.”

“We are higher up than Purgatory,” Waverly said, almost a sharpness to her voice, detesting the bad weather deeply, “so it’s even _colder_ than usual. I don’t think it’s even snowed back home yet. I’m sure it’s still fifteen or twenty, too.”

Wynonna eyed Nicole, hyper focused on finally defeating these bandits. “You Assassins have terrible taste in venues.”

Clicking of keys, tapping of a pencil against sanded wood, gulping of a madwoman. Victorious shout from Nicole when she finally took down those bandits, a small smile from Waverly and an eye roll from Wynonna. Jeremy, the designated chef on all occasions, left with the last of the pancakes. Always ate after everyone else was settled, and with the one working stove’s tiny size, he often found himself making meals in different waves. Example: not enough room to make pancakes for everyone in one go, but in three or four. He was ready to have Nicole raid the kitchen section of a Home Depot soon for another one. He headed back into the mine to finish up on the Animus, and Wynonna recalled Rosita was on her routine morning walk. Always alone. Probably a huge stress reliever, a chance to breathe.

Wynonna slowly scooted over her side of the table’s bench, convinced Waverly hadn’t noticed as she neared. She peeked at her sister’s neat scribbles and neat timelines, surprised it wasn’t all laminated and scrubbed clean, finished with a glowing polish. Waverly was always organized, always had a spot for something, while Wynonna was known to shove things into whatever crevice it could fit into.

“You’ve been a little antsy lately.”

Wynonna’s shoulders dropped. Spotted—damn. She’d been a bit in the dark about Wyatt’s life, Waverly’s notes. Why? Didn’t this whole thing revolve around her, or something? (Truthfully, Waverly kept it hidden because she wanted Wynonna to take it easy. To have a breather before they jumped into the rabbit hole.)

“Of course I am,” she put bluntly. “We’ve been sitting around, doing nothing for two-three days now.”

“Just be patient, okay? We’ll start soon, and soon you’ll complain we’re moving too fast.” She looked up from her notes. “You can’t just jump into a broken Animus, you know.”

“Sure, but the assholes who killed Willa are still out there. Sitting around, probably doing something despicably douchey. Like golfing.”

“We’ll get there. Just give it time.”

Wynonna eyed her. Specifically, how calm she was. Like this was no big deal. Talk about a role reversal.

“How’re you so calm?” Wynonna asked. Stuffed the last of those pancakes into her mouth.

“Maybe I have a great poker face,” Waverly grinned. Wynonna narrowed her eyes.

“I don’t think so. You’re a terrible liar.”

Waverly admitted, “I think I feel a little cocky, you know? After two weeks of totally freaking out and feeling so hopeless, I feel like we have a shot. We have you, we already have one ring, I know where to look, and the Animus is almost ready. I feel good about this.”

She watched how Wynonna tensed at the mention of the Animus. Every time, not just now. Empty hand balled into a fist, eyes trailed off. Almost looked uncomfortable.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Wynonna sighed, “I’m dealing. Some whiskey might help, though. Look, those Templars make me nervous. Lucado is crazy. They worked Willa until she _died_. But,” she rubbed against her own boot with the other, Wyatt’s Buntline stuffed inside, “I feel a little more confident having Peacemaker. And, you know, I saw our back-up sparring yesterday.”

At first she wasn’t so sure about having that gun. It killed Ward, made everyone think she was nutso. Not to mention the ghosts of all those Wyatt killed, too. And Ward, on the job as a lawman. Sheriff, before his death. An alcoholic one. She almost gave the thing back, too. But something about it made her feel sure about herself. Like it was a promise of revenge for all that’d gone wrong that night. A promise they were both here to finally do some good.

She looked briefly over to Nicole, still playing her game. No doubt listening to their conversation. Sorting through dead opponent’s gear, only taking what was totally necessary. When Jeremy played, he took everything, sold what he didn’t need to keep. He did that in all the various games Wynonna saw them play. Nicole only ever seemed to play this one, along with a couple fighting games—which she swore Nicole stole moves from while training—and a fantasy monster hunting game. Nothing with guns. Hands-on combat. She remembered Nicole and Rosita arguing about handing Peacemaker over. Rosita let up, defeated, when Nicole said it wasn’t theirs like the rings, but Earp property. No harm in returning something they didn’t own and didn’t need to own. Wynonna respected that. She also noted how Nicole looked almost disgusted when she held the thing. Called guns messy and useless, too. Guns ruin her life, too?

Adding from before, “Even if I am a lousy shot.”

Nicole _was_ listening in, the way she turned her head slightly, as if to speak. She thought to offer lessons in VR, since shooting Peacemaker and releasing its noise was too risky, and even with the silenced weapons ammo was limited. But she kept quiet.

“You were just trying to help,” Waverly soothed. Wynonna sighed.

“Yeah, well, let’s hope I don’t ‘help’ anyone else by accident.”

-

“I’m ready to start, now.”

She was sick of waiting around. Sick of being babied, a practice proven by the expressions that followed.

The Animus was finished, a detail blurted out by Jeremy as he ran into the mess hall to grab Rosita while she sparred with Nicole. The first thing anyone said when they piled into the mine was Wynonna, expressing her eagerness to finally take these Templars of BBD down.

“Are you sure?” Rosita asked carefully. “We can—”

“Right now.” Wynonna plopped down on the machine’s chair. “Let’s do this.”

No more protests, not with that determined Earp edge. Jeremy sat at the converted desk next to her, one of many laptops ready to display what she’d see in the machine currently doing nothing other than cradling her head and right arm. Catheter for interfacing hanging off the inside of the single armrest. Waverly on the chair next to Jeremy, its purpose for letting her watch over Wynonna.

“So I’ve narrowed it down to around spring of 1887,” Waverly began to explain. “History tells us Wyatt was still in San Diego with his companion Josephine Marcus, gambling and investing in saloons and real estate while San Diego was in a boom.”

“And you think he went to Purgatory around then?” Wynonna clarified. Waverly nodded, smiling in pride of herself and in the excitement of putting her hard work to use.

“BBD looked at every gap in Wyatt’s life, specifically before his time in Tombstone. They found what you saw by accident, but could never pinpoint the time. I think the answer’s been in plain sight, somewhere from 1887 all the way to 1897 when Wyatt was in San Francisco, before he left for Alaska’s gold rush. And it was spring or summer from that memory, judging from everyone’s lighter clothing.”

She’d studied the file stolen by Jeremy’s hacking prowess from BBD while Wynonna was still missing, retrieved just before they rescued her. She watched it over almost as many times as Wynonna was forced to.

Wynonna was smiling at her. “Not bad, Waves.”

Nicole, sitting at a distance, tried not to stare too long at the flustered blush Waverly let off in response. Like she’d never been complimented or praised before.

-

Wynonna pushed late into the night and all through the next day after a quick night’s rest. A few failed synchronizations, overall pretty rocky, but she managed to keep moving along at a steady enough pace. Nothing, in all of 1887, just Wyatt’s everyday life. Gambling and storytelling. Big wins, big losses taking days to earn back. One important find, in early 1888, one that had Waverly rushing at superhuman speeds to type away at her laptop: Wyatt Earp’s reaction when learning of Doc Holliday’s passing, two months after the fact.

Wynonna was still, body comatose, as the machine and her mind raked through Wyatt’s memories. Peaceful, as peaceful as her sister had ever seen her, until they crossed over into mid-1888. She slashed around, almost seizure-like, and burst awake. Wyatt had been sitting in a saloon, and a man in a bowler hat entered. The same memory she relived for two weeks, never moving on and never able to escape, like a nightmare. All because it wasn’t clear enough and always cut off, so Lucado kept pushing to see all of it, in full. Any time someone suggested moving on, or any time Wynonna tried to, she backed everything up. Jeremy theorized it only made Wynonna more resistant. Made her afraid.

Blew off everyone easing her, telling her to take it slow. There was no more room to sit around. No way was she letting those assholes get ahead again. She took a few minutes, twenty at most, to collect herself before diving back in. Couldn’t seem to focus. The memory kept skipping, fell apart entirely, became impossible to see. And Wynonna was waking again, fully conscious. Her mind was fighting it, almost. They took another break.

“Relax, Wynonna,” Rosita tried. “You have to let go, let him take over.”

“Oh yeah?” Wynonna sat up, chest heaving. “I’m more of a in-charge-all-the-time girl.”

Nicole was lazing on her claimed cot across the way, cat napping on her stomach, buried in some article on the phone she’d been borrowing from Jeremy. “Wow, bet you’re fun in bed,” she mumbled.

Wynonna glared at her. “Not as fun as you, I’d bet.”

Nicole looked up, leaned up to look at her, phone aside. “Honey, I’ll rock your world.”

At that, Waverly accidentally pressed too hard on her pencil and the lead broke. Nicole’s lips tugged a bit at the red on Waverly’s face and her frozen expression, and she laid back, satisfied with herself.

Jeremy was trying now, “This didn’t work with Lucado because you kept refusing it, and it was forced. You’re not syncing, like before. Just take a deep breath and relax. Trust the machine. Trust us.”

Wynonna exhaled, shaky, some hesitance. Closed her eyes. When her breathing eased out Jeremy stuck her arm and her mind interfaced once again. All that followed was more incomplete textures, failed syncs. Jeremy was ready to pull her again, until suddenly the whole scene faded. Another emerged, without manual prompt, with Wyatt and Robert Svane standing before Purgatory’s sign. Waverly couldn’t make the date, not until they crossed into town and passed an old newspaper. The time added up from the last memory; they didn’t miss much. Wyatt and Robert were entering for the first time. Wynonna’s subconscious skipped over that repeated meeting of Robert Svane, too unwilling to venture there again, but took them right where they needed to go. Everything Lucado was too greedy to have. She was fully synchronized again, with less fight than before, moving at a faster, smoother pace. And the Assassins were on track, steps closer to finding the remaining rings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three we'll finally look into Wyatt's life as he enters Purgatory for the first time. Definitely going to be a long chapter, as I plan to have the whole sequence in one go as opposed to how the games tend to split up the memories as different levels. Only because this is about Wynonna Earp and the modern day, so I don't want half of these chapters to be about Wyatt's life and kind of not focus on Team Earp. And I feel if there're a bunch of chapters about Wyatt spread all over it'll kind of of deplete the modern day's value, in a way?


	3. Sequence 2: Strange Places, Strange Times

**_[SUBJECT: WYATT EARP]_ **

**_[SOURCE: WYNONNA EARP]_ **

**_[ERROR: UNKNOWN DATA FILE]_ **

 

“That’s a quaint little sign.”

The two men slowed, their worked horses obliging with an almost unison snort. Purgatory’s town sign, the town a growing figure in the near distance, three bullet holes blasted through front to back. Whole thing practically the size of a fist.

 Robert stroked his horse, a silent thanks for their long days of travel. Eyeing the sign. “It’s the fifth replacement this year,” he said, restarting an easy pace. “It catches a fine price, I suppose.”

Wyatt smiled. If only criminals were more interested in collecting signs then they were a kill count.

“I’m glad we’ve finally arrived,” Robert said again, though there was an unsure nerve to his tone. “I’ve never been fond of travel. Too many perils. Like those bandits back there, they had me worried. I feared that would’ve been it; we would’ve lost.”

“The better man always triumphs, Robert. And if not him, then the equally good man beside him.” Wyatt removed his hat, the darker shade scorching in the summer sun, and wiped away the sweat on his brow. “You’ve certainly picked up some new skills, old friend. I’m impressed.”

Robert felt at his occupied wrist, gripping his horse’s reins. Assassins blade hidden under his sleeve. “Purgatory is a tough, corrupt town. I didn’t have a choice otherwise.”

Wyatt’s hat returned to his head. “Oh, I’m certain it’s not much unlike all the other corrupt towns we’ve seen.”

Robert eyed him, a worry clear to his features. “No, Wyatt, Purgatory is different. Very different.”

Wyatt nodded, fazed significantly less than Robert hoped. “Our work is cut out for us, then.”

Though truthfully, law wasn’t his interest anymore. Not for a while. He owned property in San Diego. He gambled, and at the end of the day he wasn’t surprised or relieved to still be standing. He had his Josephine. But Robert Svane was a trustworthy old friend, one he owed many favors to. Bring the sheriff Clootie to justice, have a drink, go home. Simple.

“Though,” Wyatt sighed, “it is a shame Doc can’t join us.”

“I heard of his passing. Was it last year?”

Wyatt nodded. “The last time we met, when he bid his farewells, he did not look well. Not like the stubborn, proud Doc I knew. It was a painful sight to see. I can only hope his passing was swift.”

“Our last conversation was an argument. He called me a coward for not using my pistol or bothering to defend myself. I remember, he asked me if I was a man or an overgrown child.”

“How did you come to join these people, Robert?”

Robert felt for his blade again, tightly clinging to his wrist. “Shortly after we last parted, I met a strange man in a saloon. He wore long robes and bore a hood. When I learned he was French I assumed it was some sort of European fashion. We had a talk at the bar, about nothing in particular. He seemed a nice man, ignoring the guns and knives he carried. Outside, on the way back to my hotel, someone tried to steal from me. He appeared again and saved my life just as they made to fire. I felt indebted to him and bought him drinks the next morning. He discussed his livelihood, to which I felt a calling from God. Years after I joined, we rode to Purgatory.”

By now Wyatt was well-versed in the Brotherhood. Robert explained his involvement in San Diego, when he initially asked for Wyatt’s help. A short argument about the business of killing the second time. A refusal the third time. Some distance between pleas, and Robert hadn’t approached Wyatt about the job for days. It gave some time to consider, and on the fourth ask he finally gave in and accepted. Like Robert, something greater was calling on Wyatt to do this. On the ride to Purgatory Robert explained further the nature of the Assassins, a subject Wyatt promised to be open minded about. He told extensively of the endless warring with the Templars. Robert, Wyatt thought, wasn’t good at getting to the point. He still hadn’t told much of Purgatory’s status, what they were in for. Robert wasn’t one to withhold information, and hopefully he wasn’t starting now. Clearly, given his new killing abilities, he was a changed man.

“What is your organization’s influence in this area?”

“We had it under control. We had a rather large shootout with the Templars here, and succeeded. Clootie seized the opportunity in all the violence to steal the hidden rings with his wives. Clootie alone killed most of our Brotherhood. There are few of us left, and most are severely hurt. We’ve had no choice but to hide while he plunges the town into absolute chaos.”

“Wives? You didn’t mention them before, Robert.” A lecturing expression to him, one that made Robert scramble to explain.

“They’ve gone missing. Personally, I think they’ve left for richer land. My Mentor believes they’re still here. But Clootie is the real threat, and chances are his wives will surrender once he’s gone. They’re the lesser of two evils; we can handle them alone.”

“Friend, you should never underestimate people. Especially those with power.”

-

Whispers and gossip as the pair trotted forward. One thought them high and mighty in all the wrong ways, the way they looked down from their horses. Like kings looking down on peasants. Most of those whispers, though, regarded the gunfight in Tombstone. An affair with mixed opinions, opinions media outlets happily explored and expressed. Wyatt was never interested in regret. He stood by his actions. Dangerous men threatened his family, so he handled them. Part of the job was handling dangerous men, wasn’t it? These bystanders and their locked gazes weren’t going to be inviting. Given Purgatory’s current condition, Wyatt could understand. The last thing this town needed was another killer. Still, they could bother to whisper opinions of his sanity lower. Might as well shout from the rooftops they thought he was crazy.

“Don’t listen to them,” Robert said between them, steering his horse closer. “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard already, Robert.”

Robert looked to him. “You are a good man, Wyatt.”

Wyatt fiddled with the reins a bit, eyes looking off to observe the tiny town made smaller with its large buildings. “Give it time, Robert. Give it time.”

Robert’s response fell from his lips, once he heard someone say Sheriff Clootie fled town at word Wyatt Earp arrived in Purgatory. Probably why people detested him so easy. The mere mention of his name had their madman sheriff running off.

They froze a moment, unsure what to do next. They’d passed what Wyatt believed was the sheriff’s office already. He assumed Robert was gathering his people first, so he kept quiet. But if Clootie was missing, what was the plan? The worry was clear on Robert’s face.

So Wyatt took charge, galloped for the office. And Robert followed, still worried but trusting of Wyatt more than anything else. Clearly this was a huge bomb to whatever strategy his group had cooked up.

Hitched horses before the cracked open front door, checked guns to be cautious. Wyatt paused by the door, listening in and peeking in, scanning as best he could. Some chatter inside, two men just under a dirty clock mounted on the wall. Said something about town prostitutes being lackluster at best. There was an empty chair across from Wyatt’s place on the building’s porch, newspaper unattended on the splintered wood.

 

**_[MEMORY FILE UPDATED]_ **

**_[START: SEQUENCE 2, MEMORY 1]_ **

**_[MEMORY START: JULY 14, 1888]_ **

 

The door was opened fully swiftly, and Wyatt waited around the corner for fire to fly. Nothing. Just cursing, the sound of something dropping, and an unconvincing demand to surrender. Robert poked his head in, and after a moment he asked Wyatt to stand down.

Inside was two of four of Purgatory’s deputies, Stevie and Peeper, thought to have been killed or off to the next town with their other two fellow lawmen. The four of them hadn’t been seen since Clootie took charge. It was likely the other two, stellar in their field, fled for bigger towns that’d suit their talents better. This pair weren’t superstar policemen, but they were here. And back to work in the sheriff’s office, where Clootie could return any time and do away with them. Clearly they were trustworthy enough, honorable enough, to look to for help.

“You again,” Stevie grumbled to Robert as he flopped back into his desk chair, messily shoving a revolver back into a pocket. Peeper, behind him, picked up his own dropped gun. Tossed it carelessly onto the only other desk and walked into one of three jail cells, all empty. Nothing else to do, so he decided to tidy up. Or rather, nothing else he _could_ do.

Stevie inspected Wyatt head to toe, mostly eyeing the gun on the man’s hip. Fine and polished, loaded full. Cleaned and cared for. An American Model 3 Smith & Wesson, gifted by John Clum, mayor of Tombstone. Strapped to a leather gun belt just as tidy, as if brand new. Stevie scoffed and pawed his own, dusty revolver.

“And you brought a fancy city boy this time. Does he have the bail for the years jail time your crew owes?”

Wyatt offered his hand to shake, only to be refused. “Wyatt Earp, friend. I’m here to help.”

Peeper dropped the bucket between his fingers, peeked out of the cell he occupied. “Wyatt Earp? Dodge City Wyatt Earp? Tombstone Wyatt Earp?”

“Just ‘Wyatt’ will do.”

Peeper had walked to join them by now, crowded at Stevie’s desk currently nothing more than a rest for the man’s feet, against the front corner of the small office. He happily bumped his uninterested partner on the shoulder, glee to his face. Stevie only picked at his nails. Blank all over.

“Look at that, Stevie, we might stand a chance!”

Stevie rolled his eyes, disbelieving.

“Do you know where Sheriff Clootie is?” Robert asked, removing his hat. Wet hair slicked back with sweat. Apparently the summer north was cruel, too.

“This is a job for the law,” Stevie spat. “You and your secret group ain’t law.”

Wyatt stepped forward. “Easy, friend. We all want the same things here. Let’s worry about Clootie now and Robert later.”

“No surprise you’re on his side—”

“Come on, Stevie,” Peeper tried. The man rolled his eyes again.

“We were on Clootie’s tail, along with the other deputies here. What was left of us, anyhow. He used his magic voodoo and made a real show of us. Me and Peeper barely made it back.”

Robert’s eyes were wide. “The other deputies are dead?”

Stevie nodded. “The whole lot of ‘em. I suppose we should’ve asked your killers to tag along. Be useful, for once.”

“But do you know where Clootie _is_?” Wyatt asked, and Stevie sighed.

“We do. A cabin in the trees.” He pointed outside, as if it’d be completely identifiable from here. “He’s not the only muck in there. Plenty of wanted men and local bandits camp out there.” He was sighing again, before standing and making for the door, grabbing a shotgun on the way out. “Best keep your eyes wide open.”

 

**_[END:  SEQUENCE 2, MEMORY 1]_ **

**_-_ **

**_[START: SEQUENCE 2, MEMORY 2]_ **

**_[MEMORY START: JULY 14, 1888]_**

 

They rode out of the T-shaped settlement, buildings lined up and down the road, denizens on the streets and indoors staring from dusty roads and dusty shops. Some with shock painted across their faces, as if believing Wyatt might’ve come to slaughter the last of the law with Robert as a sort of fealty to Clootie.

Robert assured, as they followed Stevie’s quick, impatient lead, his allies would know to follow them. While Peeper and Stevie discussed something privately, to Wyatt he whispered the Assassins have scouts, eyes and ears, about the territory. To try to keep it safe, and, just recently, to find Clootie.

“Tell me about Purgatory, gentlemen,” Wyatt asked of his two new partners. Their destination in the Pine Barrens was still a ways off. Not too far but enough for a quiet ride to grow awkward.

“We used to be a farming town,” Peeper answered. “Things used to be quiet. It could’ve been less miserable, but it was quiet. Got the name ‘Purgatory’ because the place was having its worst summer when settlers arrived. Crops used to live and die as they pleased, too, and one year the whole town nearly starved. Then those kind gentlemen rode in and brought new order. Things were going great. Until _his_ kind—” a stabbing glance to Robert “—arrived and made a mess of things. Now we’ve got Clootie and a whole mess of other troubles.”

“The Templars were stealing from you,” Robert mumbled. Stevie darted around at the sound.

“What’s that, Spectacles? If you intend to insult a man, have the decency to speak up!”

Wyatt sighed, “Boys, let’s not—”

“The Templars were stealing from you,” Robert repeated, louder, “and playing with forces they didn’t understand. Not to mention Clootie was your responsibility—and _you_ let him escape from his cell!”

“ _I_ didn’t do nothin’ wrong,” Stevie shot back. “We’re the law. _We_ handle fraud. Not your legion of thugs and murderers.”

“I’d say you bet on the wrong horse, sacrificing him for us. And in your greed—”

Gunshot. Horses whinnying. Stevie, bucked off his mare, cursing as it ran off. Not two steps into the Pine Barrens and faceless cowboys within the trees were shooting.

The four men ran behind tree trunks for cover. Sent their spooked horses off to be with Stevie’s. The man with an aching spine now, coughing a bit at Robert’s side where they took cover.

“You boys came to the wrong place!” someone teased. Three shots followed.

Six men walking in, all with a sick satisfaction to their faces.

“They’ve got us outnumbered by two!” Peeper panicked. Stevie blind-fired his shotgun, turning it around the thick tree.

“And here I thought you couldn’t count proper!” he said. “They’re right to be pissed now; we just took a dozen or so of their own down!”

“Is the cabin close?” Robert asked. One plan that could work circled in his head.

“It’s not particularly far.”

Robert nodded to himself. Thinking something over as the madmen inched closer, slow and evil. He pulled a circular device from his coat pocket, warned everyone to stay close to him. Before Stevie could express his protests, Robert dropped the tool and engulfed the ten in a cloud of smoke. Stevie called him a coward, but followed nonetheless. And said something along the lines of “shadowpeople devil magic”.

Robert kept up the act, dropping all four of the bombs he had the moment trouble seemed overwhelming. Eventually bringing them, with Stevie’s navigation, to the cabin in question, where more outlaws and bandits were also squatting. Waiting at the door, guns in hand. Aware to the fight headed for them.

The four crouched behind wooden crates, probably holding more weapons or ammo—nothing good—and inspected the area. Made a plan.

“I thought you said you’d call in your friends,” Stevie said to Robert. “Don’t tell me they picked now of all times to quit.”

“I assure you,” Robert answered, “they’re on their way.”

“Really? How come I don’t hear gunshots, then?”

“We prefer to work quietly.”

Stevie shook his head. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I listened to you.”

“Gentlemen,” Wyatt bit, “now’s not the time. What now, Robert? Shall we wait for them?”

“I don’t—”

“That’s them!”

Gunshot to follow. Spotted because Stevie wasn’t crouched low enough. Just Robert’s luck, the bullet almost hit him. Hit the top of his hat, and the poor thing went flying elsewhere. Stevie cursed in his ripe attitude and began to fire back.

“There is a back entrance,” he said. “Peeper can keep them distracted while we sneak off.”

“By himself?” Wyatt questioned. Sounded like Peeper’s death certificate to him. But the man was tipping his hat with a confident smile, raising his rifle.

“Sally and I can handle this.”

“Sal—” Robert stopped himself. Another time, they could go over Peeper naming his gun. “Run if things get hairy.”

Peeper reloaded. “This’ll be easier than a drunk on whiskey!”

Stevie broke from the crate, Wyatt then Robert following. Wyatt feeling guilty for leaving Peeper on his own, almost enough to turn them around. But taking down Clootie by surprise would probably be easier than plowing through who knows how many guns.

Stevie seemed to know exactly where to go and how to avoid detection from which points. Too well, for someone who’d only been here once before. If there wasn’t so much going on, namely the sight of shy little Robert Svane taking out multiple foes who strayed too close undetected, nothing more than his wrist blade, Wyatt would’ve put more thought to it. Instead he followed along and kept himself on high alert and out of sight.

Entering the rear of the cabin, Wyatt retrieved his Winchester shotgun from his back. Robert his pair of .44 Colt Army Model 1860 revolvers. Stevie kept to his scratched up old shotgun, same as Wyatt’s but in much worse shape.

Quiet in the cabin. Calming down outside. Meaning Peeper either ran off or somehow made all of _them_ run off.

Robert quickly made to check the rooms, and Wyatt checked for signs anyone was still here. Stevie didn’t search quite as lively as expected, but Wyatt figured the man was waiting for trouble to burst in. But then he didn’t look as spooked, or the least bit nervous.

The second Robert declared the place vacant, the front door opened. Peeper strode in, like nothing, and Stevie joined him. Degenerates from outside flowed in, too. Wyatt cursed himself. Yes—he _should’ve_ asked more questions.

“What is this, Stevie?” Wyatt did ask, and the man spared him a satisfied grin.

“Just what we were asked to do,” he replied simply, plainly. “No hard feelings, partner. It’s either we kill you or Clootie kills us.” Raising his shotgun. “Just business, friend.”

“You don’t seem too conflicted,” Robert mumbled. This time Stevie heard.

“We’re takin’ in the crazy man from Tombstone and the crazy man a part of a killin' cult. That doesn’t seem wrong to me. That seems like my job.”

“What Wyatt did was lawful. What I did was help the people of Purgatory—your job!”

“From where I stand, neither y’all look the hero type. Just thugs in fancy clothes.”

Wyatt offered peace by tucking his shotgun away. “Son, let’s rethink this. Consider Clootie’s evils. Is he really the kind of character you want to support?”

Peeper moved his gun to Wyatt. “Ain’t for you to de—”

The posse turned around, and Wyatt and Robert took the cue to jump behind a table, after kicking it over. The sound turned Stevie back on them, before the sound of gunfire forced him to find cover, too. He ran past Peeper, ignoring the fresh arrow piercing though his neck, and found a table of his own to kick over.

Smoke filled the front portion of the cabin and the wilderness surrounding, and Robert happily announced the Assassins arrived. With a breath, Wyatt thanked their timing. And his luck.

Wyatt stared for a moment at Robert’s people. Their skillful martial arts. Mixing their hidden blades and other weapons seamlessly into the motions, like the tools were extensions of their bodies. All performed masterfully so, not a misstep he could pinpoint. Made their enemies look like children in comparison. Wyatt was under the impression _he_ was the most skilled here, the way Robert was pleading and begging. Sure, there weren’t many of these men, but he was finding it difficult to believe they were the losing side. Was Clootie just that skilled? Just that powerful? If Wyatt wasn’t worried before, he sure was now.

At least, in all the chaos, Wyatt managed to shoot Stevie in the calf as he tried to sneak off, but not before the man managed a shot that landed right inside the barrel of Wyatt’s revolver. He had the decency to approach afterwards to let Stevie gather his final words as he groaned and scraped for a weapon. Pistol empty, no extra bullets. Shotgun, lost behind him, just out of reach.

To Wyatt, in a pained growl, “You don’t know what you’re in for here. No alleyways to corner anyone in!”

Wyatt looked down on him, Winchester trained. “Well why don’t you try to explain?”

Stevie fell from where he was leaned up, where he was reaching to stop his wound from erupting blood and messing the polished wood. “I tried to be a good man. I tried to right my wrongs. God damned Clootie! God damned Assassins!”

“You can still right your wrongs. Help us, not the sheriff.”

A sob erupted from within him. “I am an irredeemable man!”

“Every man can save his soul.”

“Not if his soul belongs to the devil! To Clootie! I had to join him. I saw him slaughter those other boys. I had to join him! He promised me land and riches! Respect! A new start! Kill the killers and start anew! Now look at me! I’m startin’ the end’s what I’m startin’!”

Robert piped up, “We can protect you.” And Stevie laughed, coughed, groaned.

“You can’t protect nothin’! You don’t know what you’re doin’! He’s gonna destroy you, leave you like, well, like this! A shriveled up mess on the ground, beggin’ the Lord forgiveness!”

“So help us,” Wyatt persisted, “and we’ll bring him to justice.”

“No. Oh no. I’m done helpin’! I’m done helpin’. I’m done.”

He surged forward suddenly, gripping Wyatt’s gun barrel so fast the man was frightened into pulling the trigger. Lead pierced through a beating heart, one abandoned for a devil’s binding deal of protection and success. Stevie’s parting expression was a smile.

Silence after that, and not because another planned out betrayal was in place. Because the Assassins took out everyone, all but a sole survivor who’d supply them answers to extensive questions. And, despite the cold-blooded killers they were painted to be, none looked the least bit thrilled by it. More “business as usual”. Wyatt could relate.

One of the hooded individuals, in long elegant robes as the others, approached Wyatt. He wanted to call these people out on their cowardice, on their apparent reluctance to show their faces, but decided to bite his tongue. Robert gave his full focus, practically as a soldier standing at attention. The man pulled his long hood back to look into Wyatt’s eyes, fingers gripping the brown material and blue sewn-in patches with care. Red ascot around his neck, beard trimmed down to stubble, short hair brushed neat. He looked more kempt and proper than Wyatt expected, too, no different from the friend at his side.

“Wyatt Earp.”

He looked over the on-off lawman, and Wyatt was surprised to find no change in emotions. No surprised gasps that Wyatt Earp of all people came to help, and no evidence he sided fully with all those written and spoken criticisms on Tombstone’s O.K. Corral bout. Just looking over Wyatt, as a normal lawman. As a normal human.

Then he was looking to Robert, expression changing to the beginning of a lecture. Hand stopping Robert before an excuse or explanation could leave him.

“Any idea where Clootie is headed, Mister . . . ?” Wyatt asked. He paused, eyes silently looking for a name. The man looked back to him, outstretched a warm hand that Wyatt took.

“Mentor Ambrose Dickenson. Let’s discuss elsewhere. He’ll be looking for us. Come along, Mister Earp. Our hideout is safer.”

 

**_[END: SEQUENCE 2, MEMORY 2]_ **

**_[END: SEQUENCE 2]_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being literally half the length I was aiming for, so I do apologize for the long wait for a short chapter. Next chapter looks to be longer for sure (but apparently I'm terrible at estimating so we'll see!) and we'll dive back into the modern day. And someone (Dolls) may or may not be introduced. (may)
> 
> Another fun fact: in school, Doc Holliday studied Latin and some Ancient Greek. Awfully convenient, I'd say...
> 
> EDIT: Totally forgot to mention - if you're not totally familiar with the gunfight in the OK Corral or want some more details or whatever, I'll likely sneak in a bit next chapter with Waverly explaining briefly what went down :)


	4. Diggin' in the Past, Diggin' for the Future

_October 1, 2016_

_“We’re takin’ in the crazy man from Tombstone and the crazy man a part of a killin' cult. That doesn’t seem wrong to me. That seems like my job.”_

Jeremy looked up from his computer screen, eyes burning slightly when readjusting to the background of the compact mine. When he blinked them shut they began to water. He noticed Waverly next to him, equally less enthusiastic about this endeavor from when they started. At this point they were tired and falling asleep in their seats. Wynonna was working them hard, deciding to sift through the Animus long into the night and early into the day. And Wynonna Earp was never awake before noon, so the surprise wakeup call at seven in the morning had Waverly convinced her sister was brainwashed or something.

Rosita was across the way, working a concoction at her mini-lab. Nicole and Calamity Jane were on the other end of the room, where the hall met the inner mine-turned-office. Ready to defend against danger, if it should come. Nicole insisted on staying outside, where she could give them a warning, but given the colder weather no one could, in good conscience, let her sit out there alone and freeze. Even if it was more sensible.

Exhaustion and impatience filled the room, an energy that made Jeremy yawn even as the Assassins in the Animus feed jumped in to help Wyatt. Waverly scribbled something. Rosita shook a flask. Nicole absently pet at Jane and read some article on Jeremy’s phone. He sighed. Time to boost morale, a job he’d happily taken the second he decided to bring his collection of games and movies. He knew things would end up like this, since they were stuck in this cramped place together until their mission was over with, but hadn’t anticipated so soon. He looked back to the screen, as the shootout went on. Then he perked up.

 “Hey, Nicole!” He practically yelled across the room, misjudging the distance and effectively startling everyone. Lower, he repeated, “Hey, have I showed you any westerns yet? We should check out _Tombstone_!”

Seemed appropriate. He wondered why he didn’t start with the genre in the first place.

Nicole’s eyes trailed Calamity Jane as she scurried off for Nicole’s bed in the room’s far left side, before another hall descending further down. Where she sat on the right, she returned eye contact to Jeremy in the back. “You wanted to go to musicals next. But I think we’re still on spy movies.”

Jeremy was so enthusiastic while nerding out it was often hard to keep up. Really, she watched his movies and played his games as a distraction. And as an adept time-passer for their absurdly long days.

Waverly was perking up too, excited at the prospect of doing something the least bit entertaining. Right now a break was the thing she craved most in the world. She dropped her pencil and gave her arms a stretch. “Hey, if we watch _Chicago_ Wynonna will actually pay attention. Quietly, even.”

Jeremy was amused. “Wynonna likes _Chicago_?”

“Only for the line ‘he walked into my knife ten times’.”

Across the way Nicole was tucking away Jeremy’s phone. “What is Tombstone, anyway?” She’d overheard the couple mentions of it from the Animus feed on Jeremy’s laptop.

Jeremy eyed the screen a moment, just as Wyatt left the dead shootout with the Assassins. Good place to stop today; they could analyze the information later. Everyone’s brains were fried otherwise. “It’s one of the best westerns of all time!”

At that, Waverly shook her head. “More importantly, it was a historical event including Wyatt, two of his brothers, and Doc Holliday. It was highly controversial, even to this day, but later in his life he’d become famous for it and immortalized in westerns.”

Jeremy carefully pulled the catheter from Wynonna’s arm and shut off the Animus. Then he looked back to Nicole. “And a great western.”

Though just now waking, Wynonna had enough of a grip on her senses and reality to mutter, “Westerns are dumb.”

To which Waverly agreed, “And a tad historically inaccurate.”

Jeremy was looking between them, head rotating left and right. Offended, almost. “What? No, westerns are cool! With the shootouts and the cowboys—”

“He just has a thing for men with mustaches,” Rosita was laughing, approaching them. Jeremy’s jaw dropped as she stepped on.

“Hey, I told you that in confidence!”

“You better not be checking out my ancestor, buddy,” Wynonna muttered again, and Jeremy gave up. Before he somehow made this worse.

Rosita smiled, leaned over the desk. Eyed Wynonna, who was clearly still waking up judging from the expression on her face. “We can pick things up later. Tomorrow Jeremy and Waverly can look over what we’ve learned. For now, everyone should get some rest.”

Waverly sprung up, so fast she got a slight head rush. “I need to hit the showers.”

Wynonna watched her walk out. “Thought I smelled something funky.”

Before computers could be shut down and generators turned off to preserve energy and Rosita’s experiments bottled up, Nicole stepped up.

“You guys go ahead, I’ll pack up.”

Rosita smiled appreciatively. “You don’t have to do that.”

“No, go ahead. You guys have been working, I’ve been sitting around doing nothing—it’s the least I can do.”

Not that Rosita agreed, but she motioned everyone out. Stopping by Nicole on the way out. “You contribute too, Nicole. You protect us.”

She left before Nicole could disagree.

-

The sudden force Wynonna fell into her seat with ripped Rosita from her thoughts. First about the mission. What was done, what was left to do. Then about Nicole, feeling a bit useless and hating this whole cause but sticking around for Rosita’s sake anyway. It was a favor she could never repay in one lifetime.

Jeremy had started to prepare dinner for the team, his second claimed job, and in the meantime Wynonna was rummaging around for something to drink. She searched high and low at this point, and still found nothing containing even the smallest drop of alcohol. Shortly after she sat down she began to stare at Jeremy, who’d arrived a second before, as he typed away on one of his laptops. Why he had so many no one knew or ever really felt inclined to ask. Wynonna figured it was a nerdy collector thing.

“Question,” she started, breaking the silence, still armed with a whole bunker of unanswered inquiries. “How come it said I started on sequence _two_? Is one taboo or something here?”

“You don’t remember?” Jeremy asked, and she shrugged. “Your mind didn’t exactly agree with revisiting Robert Svane and Wyatt Earp in San Diego. Eventually you just skipped over it, so we went with it. We know what happens and you restarted in the perfect place, so we decided to make it its own thing and move on.”

An excellent contrast from Black Badge and Lucado, who wanted every second of detail, in the most perfect form. No wonder they got nowhere, even with the Willa advantage for a decade. What they deserve for being greedy.

Wynonna leaned more over the table, “Well that makes sense. I _did_ have to watch it over and over again for two whole weeks.”

“It was a short sequence,” Rosita chimed, “but you got through it fast. And without stopping. That’s impressive. Willa was fast too, but she used to get sick and had to stop frequently.”

“Probably thanks to fifteen years of prolonged use.” Wynonna laughed to herself. “Willa would hate that. She always did like to be better at everything.” She sat up straight and stretched her arms, exhaustion beginning to creep in. “Can’t _wait_ to jump in tomorrow. I’m having the time of my life!” Eye roll to follow.

“Oh, no. you’re still on break tomorrow.”

Wynonna gave a confused look. Another break? Already? No wonder the Assassins were so behind. Sure, she’d much rather _not_ be pushed beyond her limits, but even she didn’t feel like slacking. For once.

Jeremy caught her expression and explained, “Using the Animus for too long can damage your mind. The stuff you did today and yesterday was short, but you’ve still been at this for two weeks. We just want to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

Wynonna was annoyed by the thought of another short hiatus, but she couldn’t argue she didn’t appreciate how they were looking out for her. Whether or not it was to protect their interests and she was the literal last person left to do this, as far as anyone knew. Whatever the intent, compared to her previous “partnership”, she preferred kindness over cruelty.

Rosita added, “You wanting to search year-round instead of only spring and summer contributed. Otherwise we’d let you keep going.”

Wynonna slouched. “I didn’t want to miss anything. Not that I don’t trust Waverly, but I wanted to be sure. She was right anyway, though, so joke’s on me.” She paused a second. “Wait, is that how Willa died?”

Jeremy was nodding. Rosita said, “It was from excessive sessions and minimal breaks. According to records, it wasn’t the first major issue. They had to revive her a few times in the past.”

Wynonna balled her fists in rage. _Damn_ that was sick. Definitely didn’t feel like taking a break now. She didn’t want to ask, but there was still one more thing she needed to know.

“Why didn’t they use Willa’s corpse to get the DNA stuff for the Animus and keep going?”

“They tried,” Jeremy answered, and he started to look sickened, rightfully. “But the machine needs to be guided by the mind, too. They’re trying to make a new model, but I’ve been meddling in their plans.” Indicating his laptop.

“Okay, well, why didn’t the Assassins take me instead? Beat them to the info and all that?”

Both were looking to Rosita, a look of shame and disappointment to her. Because she knew the Brotherhood could’ve done better. Much better. It was something she never stopped thinking about. As kids she used to lecture Nicole for never following instructions and challenging authority, but now she wondered if that practice might’ve changed things for the better.

“A lot of people wanted to. A lot of people tried to, but our Mentor wouldn’t have it. His excuse was always about not wanting to abandon Willa. He—”

The three turned to the door as it was closed, Nicole standing next to it, scoffing. She shook her head as she walked over, looking ready to burst into laughter.

“He was an idiot who did everything wrong,” she said. “He didn’t listen to anyone, talk to anyone, or think anything over. He was selfish and shallow and ran everything like a dictatorship.”

Wynonna snorted. “Tell me how you really feel, though.”

Nicole sat next to Rosita, who looked about ready to stop all this, and stared into Wynonna’s eyes. “The few seconds he did consider enlisting you, he decided you were ‘unworthy’. All because you caused trouble and had a bad record. Mentor hated free thinkers and rebels like you, despite our stupid motto.”

Rosita looked fit to scold Nicole, but Wynonna persisted anyhow. “Motto? What’s that?”

Nicole gave an ironic smile. “Nothing is true, everything is permitted.”

Wynonna snorted again. “Now _that’s_ what I’m about. Why didn’t you lead with that?”

Nicole looked to Rosita, satisfied with whatever silent victory she’d just won. “I wanted to, but Rosita said no.”

Rosita’s response never left her lips, because Nicole fell serious, looking towards the kitchen. Calamity Jane was poking about there, too.

“What’s that smell? Something’s burning, I think.”

Then Jeremy was springing out of his seat, sprinting over and yelling, “My garlic bread!”

Wide-eyed, Wynonna called, “You’d better not burn that!” She turned again to find amused expressions and added softly, “What? Garlic bread is the shit.”

-

Nicole headed outside alone again, favoring the silence over picking another fight with Rosita. Every time she bad-mouthed the Brotherhood, she got an earful. Rosita liked being here, liked making a difference. Liked wearing their colors, enough to stomach the killing part of their job, a tactic Nicole never agreed with. Being orphaned at three does that to a girl.

She looked up at the sound of Calamity Jane’s happy meowing and saw Waverly climbing the short staircase. Stopping to pet Jane, then stopping to eye Nicole. And flash a caring smile.

“Hey, it’s cold out,” she said, voice as gentle and soothing as ever. “Why don’t you go inside with the others?”

Nicole leaned back, against the wall. “I didn’t really feel like it.”

“Oh god, are they still arguing about movies? I’ll admit _Tombstone_ was an accurate take, but still! That last bit with Johnny Ringo? Not true. And don’t get me started on the red sashes!”

“What _did_ happen with Tombstone? Did they kill a bunch of people or something?”

Waverly excitedly took a seat next to Nicole. She was always happy to talk history, and frankly she craved a few minutes in the fresh air.

“I just need one second to think it over. I’d tell the long version, but I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

Nicole shrugged. “We can do the long version. There’s not really anything else I’d rather be doing.”

Waverly smiled wide, a hint of disbelief to her, as if this were the first time anybody offered to listen to one of her long historical rants. Even when Rosita or Jeremy needed information her answers were as short as possible. Nicole thought it odd. She could listen to Waverly ramble for hours. Sure, she’d only known Waverly a few days now, but who _wouldn’t_ let her go on and on? Waverly was sweet, a type of kindness Nicole had never fully experienced in her checkered life. She’d met nice people, but compared to Waverly Earp, the human embodiment of sunshine, they were just as bad as old west outlaws.

Waverly took a second to get comfortable, the years of research and study racing through her head.

“Well basically, in 1879, Wyatt, Virgil, and Morgan Earp and Doc Holliday settled in Tombstone, Arizona. They planned to get normal jobs, but of course eventually ended up lawmen again. They constantly butted heads with the local gang, the ‘Cowboys’, whose crimes were typically pardoned or ignored by Tombstone sheriff Johnny Behan. He thought them useful, especially for rigging elections in his party’s favor. Mostly, they stole cattle from nearby Mexican ranches and resold them cheaper in the states. Eventually Mexico built garrisons along the border, so they turned to stealing from American ranches and Wells, Fargo’s shipments of silver leaving Tombstone’s mines. Still with me?”

Nicole nodded and motioned for Waverly to keep talking. Waverly only gave a flustered grin.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “no one ever lets me get this far. Most people think it’s boring.”

“That makes _them_ boring. This _is_ interesting, and you’ve worked hard on it.”

Waverly’s grin only widened, the sight forcing a small smile out of Nicole, too. “Thank you, Nicole.”

The Assassin simply nodded before motioning Waverly along again. She straightened up, the excitement to her growing now.

“Okay, okay. So, in 1881, tensions were rising. Stagecoach robberies were worsening, and a driver was murdered. The local anti-Earp newspaper, the ‘Tombstone Nugget’, claimed Doc was responsible. Wyatt was running for sheriff at this time, and wanted to get the jump on the Cowboys for the publicity, as well as clear Doc’s name. He made a deal with Cowboys associate Ike Clanton for information on the stage robbers. Ike accepted, but over time he grew paranoid Wyatt would let word out he betrayed the Cowboys. He started drinking more, and decided to walk around town and threaten to kill the Earps. Because somehow that would’ve gone over well. Ike was taken to court and fined. Later, Ike’s brother Billy arrived, along with Tom and Frank McLaury, and they only made matters worse. The law in Tombstone was no carrying of guns, and on top of their threats, they carried their weapons like the childish little rebels they were. Now, here’s the big part. The big O.K. Corral gunfight. Ready?”

Nicole was nodding again. “Yeah, yeah, go on.”

A happiness bearing the purity of a child swarmed Waverly, and Nicole found herself smiling again.

“The Earps made their way to the men, but weren’t expecting a gunfight. According to some accounts, Sheriff Behan said he disarmed the Cowboys. But if the Earps knew they were disarmed, why’d they bother? Some hist—Sorry, no, that’s a topic for another time. Okay, so the Earps approach and Virgil tells everybody, ‘Throw up your hands!’ But no one did. Frank and Billy were claimed to have drawn their guns first, and one of the west’s most famous gunfights broke out. It’s still unclear who shot first, with the narrow space and gun smoke. It lasted only thirty seconds, but left Billy and both McLaurys dead, and Morgan, Virgil, and Doc injured. Ike was unarmed and ran, and later filed murder charges. Behan tried to arrest the Earps, but Wyatt wasn’t having it. There were court hearings, but ultimately the Earps were declared to have acted lawfully. Ike Clanton died years later while trying to escape arrest for cattle-rustling. Old habits never die, I guess. Unfortunately, months later, Virgil was shot severely in the arm, which later had to be amputated, and Morgan was shot fatally in the back while playing billiards. After Morgan’s death and Virgil leaving town for California, Wyatt acquired Virgil’s U.S. Marshals badge and hunted down the rest of the Cowboys with Doc and other associates. Afterwards he left Arizona to escape outstanding warrants for his ‘Vendetta Ride’, as we call it. But none of it would become as famous as it is now until 1931, thanks to the mostly fictional _Wyatt Earp, Frontier Marshall_ by Stuart N. Lake. See? I told you it was a long story.”

Nicole was in awe, staring into Waverly’s eyes. She didn’t even notice as Wynonna exited the mess hall, tripping completely over Calamity Jane when the cat buzzed past her to enter the building, or as Wynonna cursed in response and chased her into the hall, a loud thud following when she tripped over something again.

“You’re amazing, Waverly,” she said, and Waverly coyly shoved a strand of hair behind her ear.

She insisted, “It’s nothing. Anyone can look this up on the internet, right? Not entirely impressive.”

“No one here did. It _is_ entirely impressive. You’re really, really smart, Waverly.”

A look of gratitude followed, though disbelief clouded Waverly’s eyes. As if, deep down, she refused to acknowledge her talents. Whether or not a complete lack of compliments the likes of these contributed was a mystery. But Nicole wouldn’t mind repeating just how extraordinary Waverly Earp was, over and over again, to make up for it.

-

Somehow, Waverly was defeated in the movie debate. Jeremy illegally downloaded _Tombstone_ (earning a high five from Wynonna) and projected it as usual against the wall. Rosita left after they downed slightly burnt garlic bread and pasta for dinner, opting to do work despite telling everyone else to relax. Nicole feared she somehow made Rosita mad from earlier.

Barely ten minutes in, after slipping in her best mustache-themed quips, Wynonna fell asleep. Jeremy fought briefly with Calamity Jane over popcorn. Nicole hardly gave the picture any attention. Partly because she was settled so close to Waverly, who insisted on sharing blankets after Nicole handed over hers because Wynonna was hogging most of the haul. She listened to Waverly’s little mumbles about what was right and what was wrong, and with the light of the campfire nearby she stared, fascinated by how Waverly’s features somehow found a way to glow even brighter. She was beautiful, inside and out.

-

_October 2, 2016_

“Wave, why’d you bother getting Peacemaker in the first place?”

The silence was deafening. It left too much room to think. Especially out here, in the peaceful trees surrounding the mine. Nicole laid out a path from the car to their hideout with coal, placed in seemingly random places. According to her, Templars were too stupid to notice. Right now Waverly kept an eye on them, careful not to stray too far from camp and get lost.

Wynonna was impatient when on breaks, impatient to get back to work. What a big change. Waverly knew the reasoning, because she felt the same paranoia herself. The feeling of BBD right behind them, jumping in and stealing victory right from under their noses at any moment. She was relieved Wynonna decided to ask about Peacemaker and not deliver the sure-to-be-grand lecture on her even joining these people in the first place. In truth, Wynonna elected to leave it be. As long as they remained here in the torturous but safe isolation and finished this race first. She hadn’t seen Waverly in three years, and frankly, with all this going on, she didn’t have the energy to be mad. Only relieved Waverly was standing here and not in the ground with Curtis and Willa. Afterwards, though, she’d unleash hell.

“Rosita has eyes around town,” she answered, first stopping them to inspect their path. On track. One blade scratch on the underside of the coal to represent they were still close to camp. The further they were, the more scratches were added. “She even has cameras on Gus.”

Wynonna exhaled. “That’s good to hear.”

Waverly nodded in agreement. “She saw some people from BBD rifling through the homestead and sent Nicole to investigate. I tagged along after I convinced them I could get there the fastest. I just _knew_ they were after Peacemaker.”

The item never left Earp land. If the police hadn’t arrived so quickly, following a clumsy Assassin who led them to the assault, Wynonna would’ve thrown the thing down the well she and Willa used to play near, a few minutes from home. They swore the thing was haunted, because sometimes they’d hear a man chattering below. If it wasn’t so creepy, and if they could see fully to the bottom, they probably would’ve investigated further. Before they grew up and moved their antics elsewhere. Instead Peacemaker found refuge under the porch steps. Courtesy of now-sheriff Randy Nedley. He knew it was an heirloom and didn’t want it in custody of the law, with the possibility of a greedy cop trying to steal it and pawn it off. It was still waiting there when Waverly came across it. She wasn’t quite sure how she managed to remember, but then that night was unforgettable.

Continuing, “Luckily, they couldn’t find it. We’re still not sure why they were after it, but Jeremy seems to think it was a deal between employees to get rich. Apparently that sort of thing happened often.”

“Wow, no wonder they’re so tightly wound.”

“I’m surprised Rosita gave it to you. I thought she was going to lock it away. I guess she trusts you.”

Wynonna recalled Nicole’s kindness of stealing it and keeping Rosita from actually locking it up in the first place. It belongs to the Earps, was her reasoning. A gesture Wynonna was grateful for. It convinced her Nicole would have her back if things got rough.

“I think she’s putting too much faith in me. People usually say I ruin things like faith.” Wynonna chuckled. “She must be _desperate_.”

“No, she’s open-minded. She likes hearing new ideas and trying new things. From what I’ve gathered, that’s a rarity.”

Wynonna thought of the apparent awful Mentor before Rosita, the one Nicole seemed to hate with every possible force in the universe.

Another silence followed, one Wynonna would’ve enjoyed if not for the buckets of anxiety she was swimming in. Waverly, on the other hand, looked at home. Like a fairy princess in a magical forest with rainbows and sunshine. Weather was warm today but she was still bundled up, the pom atop her beanie bouncing around each time she turned her head to look about the trees and the wildlife. She smiled wide when the birds chirped above, as if soaking it all in for the first time. Wynonna found herself smiling, too. Seeing her baby sister smile was a sight she missed on her travels. Knowing Waverly was happy was all she needed.

They found themselves on the subject of Wyatt Earp and Black Badge minutes later. How they came across this infuriation, this grand search for mythical enchanted rings. The pain in the ass race effectively ruining Wynonna’s European travels. Just when she hit a lucky streak in her growing gambling career. The one she started two days before she was abducted. From the Brotherhood’s intel, BBD discovered the proof they needed there was something valuable in the Ghost River Triangle. All other records were destroyed when the Assassins initially liberated the area in the 1880s. Before Clootie swooped in and stirred things up once again.

A document written by Sheriff Clootie, presumably on his death day. Confessing all his sins, all his wrongings, absent of any sort of apology or regret. Other than the Assassins gaining despite his wide efforts of evasion and enlisted hands. He told of Wyatt Earp’s involvement and Robert Svane’s responsibility for so, as well as the artifacts he possessed. The one thing he did regret was the lack of partnership between his forces and Constance Clootie, whom he referred to as a “rogue lacking loyalty”. The letter was discovered in a sealed-off portion of Purgatory’s oldest church, alongside the bottled ashes of Clootie’s other two wives. Without the rings. It was theorized Constance took the rings for herself, since they weren’t in Sheriff Clootie’s possession at the time or perhaps ever, and killed the rings’ holders, hiding them to keep it a secret from her husband. Possibly to gain the jump on him. Why the two were at ends was a mystery. She also might’ve outlived Clootie, hiding the letter here for personal reasons, or perhaps to somehow throw the Assassins off. BBD searched for descendants of Robert Svane and the Clooties, but it ended inconclusively. Simply, both men’s lives were kept too private. The Earps were the only way left.

Waverly added, “Wyatt formed Black Badge long after, after talking with Teddy Roosevelt. It gave the Assassins the advantage they needed to secure the U.S., though it was short-lived. It was strong from Teddy’s term in office until World War I hit, when the American Brotherhood began spreading themselves thin, sending members across Europe to help. The Templars took the chance to hit back hard and claimed it for themselves, succeeding shortly after Roosevelt’s death in 1919. Other than Wyatt, he was the only other person to know about BBD.”

“That when they began their super illegal super soldier program?”

Waverly learned all about the Assassins and Templars’ recent history while Wynonna was missing. She essentially stress binged the information. “It began shortly before they took Willa, probably hoping to finally end the Assassins so they could research in peace.”

Wynonna touched her heart in a show of mock sympathy. “Aw, poor evil bastards, not getting to find their evil weapons in peace!”

“For the most part it worked. They managed to nab Willa and shrank the Canadian Brotherhood down to just Rosita and Nicole.”

“And one of those two doesn’t want to be here. Like, at all. Ever.”

“It’s not perfect, though. The soldiers need suppressants for their powers, and the serum has killed a few of them already. The toughest ones are alive, but who knows for how long.”

“Wait, one of the rings cures diseases, right? They’ll try to replicate that for their soldiers.”

“Exactly, and live forever. I think they’ll sell it once it’s perfected, to try to keep their influence on the world. After they’ve destroyed the other Assassins around the world, who’re fighting their own battles with scarce numbers. Mostly hunches, but things similar to this.”

“Damn. These guys spread themselves thin. Again.” Waverly nodded, agreeing. “So is Lucado a super soldier too, or can I sucker punch her easy?”

Waverly snorted. “She’s human. So is the Grand Master, Moody, but he has  guards on him at all times, on the rare occasion he’s actually out somewhere. _They_ might be altered. There’s also a handful of strike teams looking for us, for sure led by super soldiers.”

Waverly’s mood died, and Wynonna felt an electric shock of fear. If they didn’t finish this in time, a genetically altered killer with fancy training would be on their doorstep. Good to know.

Easily, the subject was changed. Waverly had a talent of lightening up the mood, recalling the one and only time the Earps went camping as a family, Gibsons included. Curtis taught Waverly how to fish, and Ward became jealous and started teaching Willa. Willa wasn’t nearly as good, Ward was an awful teacher, and at some point, somehow, their canoe ended up getting tipped over. Michelle was on the shore with Wynonna, but still managed to get the whole thing on camera, including how Ward stubbornly swam back to camp instead of accepting Curtis’s help. Waverly was young enough to think it was a game and joined in. Only made Ward angrier.

Wynonna was adding how, the next day, Ward cleaned and skinned a fish he caught so tiny, the final product was smaller than his pinky. But she was cut off, interrupted when a walkie talkie in Waverly’s pocket crackled in. Rosita.

“And here I was expecting high tech spy gear,” Wynonna mumbled. “Like microscopic, so the enemy doesn’t know you got the jump on him, and the last minute your team blasts in all badass—”

Waverly was eyeing her, silently asking for the story to end. She huffed.

“Everyone’s a critic.”

Waverly playfully rolled her eyes, then pressed on the walkie. “Say again?”

“We need everyone back at camp for a mission briefing. Can you grab Nicole on the way in? She conveniently left her walkie behind.”

Waverly snorted. “Will do. We’ll see you in a bit.”

Wynonna glared at Waverly when she made to put the thing away. “You’re supposed to say ‘over’, Secret Agent Earp.”

“Right!” Her sister played along, pressing the device’s button. “Over!”

The line crackled in response. “What was that?”

Wynonna rolled her eyes in disappointment. Waverly mumbled, “Nothing, over.”

Then Wynonna was smiling again, satisfied. At least someone around here understood spy code. No wonder these people were at war for so long.

They were close to the mine, smart enough not to wander too far. This place was beautiful, but not beautiful enough to get lost in. Literally. Wynonna criticized the coal idea, thinking it too obvious, until she missed a few on her own and managed to turn them around. Waverly questioned why she let her navigate in the first place. Wynonna agreed; on that same camping trip, she and Willa snuck off and got separated. Ward was furious, but Michelle admired their sense of adventure. Another silence, at the thought of Michelle. What would she think of all this, wherever she disappeared to all those years ago? Would she disapprove, or buy the whiskey and the bullets?

Thoughts were interrupted again, when they crossed into camp and spotted Nicole, chopping wood. Calamity Jane, chasing a bug. Wynonna suddenly yanked Waverly behind a tree, and understandably, Waverly felt panic wash over.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, whispering for reasons escaping her right now. “She won’t throw the axe, you know.”

Wynonna waved for her to quiet down. Eyes wide, like she was discovering something. “Listen!”

And Waverly humored her, dipping her ears closer to Nicole’s rhythmic chopping, singing under her breath.

“ _I can fix it by withdrawing, claim from false completeness, and by humbly allowing God to grant me sweetness._ ”

“The song!”

Waverly’s expression fell flat. “So? Didn’t I tell you to Google it?”

“What is it with the song?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask her?”

“I don’t wanna piss her off or something. She’s licensed to kill!”

“Why would she kill you?”

“What the hell are you two doing?” Nicole relented. The Earps weren’t spectacular at keeping it down. Lucky for them, she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Wynonna poked her head out first, a forced smile upon her lips as she strode over awkwardly. Waverly followed, apologetic face and mouthing her sorries.

“I wanted to get you flowers,” Wynonna started, “but all I could find was mud. And shrubs. Insert bush joke here. Y’know, for your Emmy-nominated lungs. Or is it Grammy? Oscars? BAFTAs?”

“Are you making fun of me?” Nicole asked, resting the wood axe against her shoulder, and Waverly marveled at the unintentional supermodel pose she was making. “Because you’re doing a terrible job.”

“Nope.” Wynonna patted her empty shoulder. “Just admiring your campfire songs. Good song?”

“What’re you getting at?”

“You sing it a lot. Just curious.”

“I just—I like it, is all.” Hesitation to her voice, and a weird energy storming in. As if she was lying. “What, am I not allowed to like things now?”

Waverly was clearing her throat and stepping between them, before Wynonna could tread further onto whatever this was for Nicole. Smiling awkwardly at Nicole, apologetic look to her face still present for her sister’s bluntness.

“Uh, meeting in the mine! We shouldn’t keep them waiting, right?”

Nicole tossed Wynonna one last glare, mostly made of confusion for this sudden exchange. She tossed the axe by the stump, a sound that would’ve startled Calamity Jane if she hadn’t walked off already. She muttered, “Sure” and made for the mine, steps ahead. Far enough to give Waverly the chance to smack her sister’s arm.

“What?” Wynonna rubbed where she’d been hit. “You told me to ask!”

Waverly’s jaw fell. “Not like that!”

-

BBD had multiple dig sites, with men and machines and explosives unearthing nothing after nothing. So any whispers of progress, speculation or not, was something Rosita jumped on. One site was onto one of the rings carried by the Widows—a term coined by Jeremy seeing as the women’s identities were lost to time—and by the sounds of it, this was the real deal. Rosita planted bugs and no cameras, having none left to spare, so there was no real way to check. No action was made yet for transportation, not before they could identify their find. Because apparently it wasn’t worth wasting gas to move the invaluable object first.

Allowing a small window for the Assassins to intervene.

Hence Rosita’s current, frantic explanation of needing to speed there right now, as she tossed Nicole’s newly sowed uniform to her partner, the primary person she was speaking to. “ . . . And that’s why you need to suit up and go with Jeremy to the site. Keep a low profile, attract no attention. Just slip in and out. Doable?”

Jeremy got to work gearing himself up. The current “armory” (a corner with a couple handguns and a small box of bullets and medical supplies) was far from the old heaquarters’, a place now picked clean and burned to nothing by BBD after captured Assassins were interrogated into giving the location. Mostly, it was a reminder of how much the odds were against them.

Nicole, on the other hand, hadn’t moved. Just stood still, staring at Rosita, uniform dangling from her hand.

“Wait, wait,” she said, slinging the cloth over her shoulder, “do you know for sure these are the real rings? This is a huge risk. Their men are armed and don’t mess around.”

Otherwise, she’d happily jump into the fray to mess with BBD’s schemes. Nicole had no problem fighting against them. Her only problem here was fighting while wearing the Brotherhood’s crest. She was happy to make a difference, but she’d be even happier to do it on her own terms. Preferably without the killing aspect of the job.

Rosita sighed, admitting, “It’s a speculation. But—”

Nicole’s shoulders dropped. “Rosita—”

“Nicole—”

“I’m not risking my life for a guess, for-for a what-if. No way.”

“I don’t want you to risk your life, believe me, but there’s no room to turn this down. If there’s a chance the rings are there, and real, you have to go. If I could help you, I would.”

Nicole’s gaze changed to Rosita’s knee, forever unable to function as normal. Then back into her eyes. Rosita was a different Mentor from her predecessor. Her people weren’t pawns, but partners. She believed the mission wasn’t worth losing everyone she loved. But she also knew this was for humanity’s sake. So it _had_ to be worth losing everyone. And if not for her injury, she’d be on the front lines. Not the one person in the world who hated this all the most.

Still, jumping into a camp full of dozens of armed Templars itching to kill an Assassin wasn’t persuasive enough. Especially seeing as Nicole was the lone, designated fieldwoman.

Jeremy was stepping up from their pathetic armory, offering, “I’ll make one of my uncle’s recipes if you do!”

Nicole glared at him, ignoring the hungry look in the Earps’ eyes next to him. “That’s tempting, Jeremy, but hardly a fair trade-off for my life.”

“Grilled cheese?”

“I’m not six years old! Besides,” she indicated Wynonna, “ _someone_ ate the entire block of cheese!”

Wynonna’s hands were raised in surrender. “What? Why would—I don’t kn—Yeah, okay, it was me. But only because Haught ate the chips, and there is literally nothing else to eat! Sulking and wood chopping make you hungry much?”

“No, not me, I don’t like chips! And definitely not the weird flavors Jeremy picks!”

“Pizza-flavored Pringles!” Jeremy gasped, insulted. “That’s awesome!”

Wynonna looked to him. “That’s insulting to pizza, you damn dirty hoarder.”

“Hey, I didn’t even get to _look_ at them before they were gone!”

“Well, it wasn’t Waverly. She likes that gross vegan crap.”

Waverly shook her head. “I’ll live so much longer than you.”

Her older sister glared at her. “That gives me plenty of time to prep to kick your little ass in the afterlife.”

Rosita was clearing her throat. “You know, maybe it was Calamity Jane.” The room fell silent, accusing looks to all faces. “Yeah, you know how she’s—she can be—with—” She paused. “I’m a stress eater, okay? I’m the onl—Wait, this is a mission briefing!” She turned to Nicole, standing with her arms crossed. “Look, I’ll personally go on a food run or whatever, alright? Now go.”

Nicole scoffed, “Again, hardly worth the gamble for my life. I don’t like chips the same way I don’t like this job.”

“Well I’m Mentor, Nicole, and I’m giving you an order.”

Nicole was silent a moment, looking almost disappointed in her friend, pulling rank again. Then her hands were up in surrender, and she was off to grab her holsters in the corner.

“Fine, Mentor. Happy to die for the cause.” She dipped into the bullet box to grab a few knives, a navy blue cloth at the bottom of the thing, needles sticking out of it. Someone take up sowing?

“At least you’ve got me for backup,” Wynonna chimed confidently, clutching Peacemaker and its holster on her hip.

Nicole Haught _actually laughed._ No one else looked unamused, either. Wynonna crossed her arms, slack-jawed.

“Wow, thanks for the confidence, you assholes. I thought I was the Chosen One. If I’m such a superstar, I should be allowed to help!”

Nicole looked to Rosita for help. Expecting another big girl order. But she only shrugged. When Nicole looked to Waverly, Waverly did the same. She shook her head and sighed.

“Fine, I’ll train you later.

Wynonna smirked, “Nice.”

“Your first mission tonight is to . . . watch Calamity Jane.”

Wynonna’s smile fell. Rosita mumbled thankfulness, because damn was that cat a handful. She only listened to Nicole, and on occasion at that.

Then, moments later, Rosita was handing over her latest batch of sleep and hallucinogenic darts. Nicole’s most preferred method, the non-lethal route. A route Rosita always voiced she didn’t agree with.

“The point is to not get caught. Keeping people alive is a risk.”

Nicole scoffed at that. “Well you know me, I’m all about risks and living on the edge!”

She took the tools and loaded them on the top half of the belt wrapped around her torso, other half occupied with knives of the same size. Might as well make the launcher on her gauntlet dual use. Her childhood friend Shae Pressman used to tell her to make the most of everything.

Her uniform wasn’t on yet, but she headed out with Jeremy anyhow, a backpack filled with tech on his shoulders. Leaving for the long drive after muttering, “But I’m sure you’ll pull rank and stop me whenever you want.”

-

“Alright, I’m on top of the crane.”

“Wow, like cat like human, huh?”

“Not while I’m in the field, Wynonna.”

“Lighten up, Haught, you’re so boring!”

“Rosita, get her off the line!”

In other circumstances, Nicole might’ve been delighted to engage in a battle of whims with Wynonna. But right now she was alone in enemy territory, here to steal a precious find, perched on the peak of a crane, donning a heavy, stiff, uncomfortable jacket much too lengthy and much too red to possible help her blend in the dark, the stupid thing essentially a long overcoat with no buttons. Or a really ugly sweater. She bent awkwardly to let her body cam streaming to the team to get a good view, uniform hood concealing half of her own eyesight. At least the team miles away could see, right?

Jeremy was waiting in the getaway car, hacking into some of the drones buzzing around the area. So far he could only take over the camera feeds, only able to see what they saw on a path controlled by someone else. Luckily he hadn’t been discovered yet. Nicole climbed an unmanned crane to get a better overlook of the place, and quicker. A camp full of armed goons, understandably, was making her nervous. Rosita disagreed for a second before realizing she was better off arguing with a tree.

On the other side of Nicole’s communications device was the remainder of the team, still in their temporary home at the mine. Using the projector in the mess hall to catch every detail of Nicole’s body cam. Rosita stood close by, mumbling something about moving some of the desks here later for this sort of thing. Waverly was at the lonely table, Jeremy’s drone feed displayed on all three of his laptops.

And behind the two was Wynonna, trying to get Nicole’s blasted cat to eat dinner. Waverly wondered when the two would stop bickering and get into a formal brawl. Her money was on Calamity Jane.

Rosita’s eyes were stuck on the projector as she walked backwards to the table, another comms device on speaker for everyone to hear and contribute. “Wynonna, please keep it down.”

The Brotherhood’s Chosen One surrendered. After swiftly adding, “Haught, tell the pussycat to eat!”

On the crane, Nicole was rolling her eyes. “Sometimes, if you sprinkle her food out of the bowl, she’ll eat. She thinks it’s a game or something.”

Wynonna reached her fingers into the dish, squatting on the ground. “Thanks, teacher, I’m learning so much!”

“Rosita—”

“Hey guys,” Jeremy rightfully interrupted from the van, “it looks like they’re packing up.”

Rosita walked closer to his laptops, looking down from Waverly’s side. “Did they verify the ring yet?”

“Are the rings even still here?” Nicole added.

Silence for a moment, while Jeremy waited for the drones to hover around more. They were a lower level than the crane, so Nicole took the time to search as well, not stress over being seen. Somewhere in the background Wynonna cheered victoriously as Calamity Jane finally ate. Nicole smiled.

Waverly’s finger suddenly jabbed at the screen, and Rosita’s eyes followed to her find. “Wait, there! What’s that?”

Rosita leaned closer. One spot, brighter lighting than anywhere else, nothing in the area packed away yet. A swarm of guards nearby, four at attention by a small black box sitting on a crate. Others were patrolling or sitting under the canopies not yet taken down. Rosita clapped Waverly’s shoulder.

“Good find.”

Wynonna made her way over, curious to see the situation for herself, as the team directed Nicole to find the box from where she was scoping the land out.

“How the hell are you gonna get that, Haught?” she asked.

Nicole admitted, “No idea.” A pause, then, “Any suggestions?”

“Boobs,” Wynonna answered first, right away. “Works every time.”

“Not that I disagree, but any real suggestions?”

“That’s as real as you’re gonna get, Red.”

“Grapple below, on your right,” Rosita instructed, “to whatever that wooden monstrosity is in the corner by itself. Use the dark to sneak closer—there are no lights there.”

Nicole looked around, calculating. “Okay, and where there _are_ lights? What then? How will I swipe the box?”

Rosita froze. Truly, field work was not her specialty. Anything out of a lab was not her specialty. “Um, you—You’ve always been best at sneaking around. Isn’t this your expertise?”

“Yes, from Mentor when I was sixteen. With Shae. This is different!”

“Just—Get closer. We’ll help you figure it out as you go along.”

“Yeah, that won’t fly with me.”

“I’m sorry, but improv is the best we can do right now. There isn’t much time. If transportation shows up and takes the ring, you need to be there to stop them.”

“That’s the best _you_ can d—”

“We’ve got your back,” Waverly butted in. “We’re an extra set of eyes and we’ll help guide you; we’ll look ahead and make a plan by the time you get there. You can do this, Nicole. Just trust us.”

There was a long break, the camera on Nicole’s shoulder going left to right, up and down. Then there was an exhale of surrender. Nicole’s left arm extended, and she pressed on the grappling hook release on the gauntlet with her right, the hook in the shape of the Assassins’ sigil.

“I trust you.”

Waverly wasn’t sure why her heart swelled so much at that, but it did.

When Nicole’s finger released the button, the device began to pull her along. She let the line tighten before she jumped with it and rappelled below. Head on a swivel, making sure no one was on to her. No drones in this area, no guards close enough to see.

“Hey,” Wynonna chirped, “you should dive into that pile of leaves over there. You can call it a ‘Leap of Faith’, market that shit. You’re welcome. I expect a cut.”

Nicole’s eyes rolled again. “I can think of better ways to break all the bones in my body.”

Wynonna was at the table, slumping down next to her sister. “You’re lame. I don’t want you training me anymore.”

“That’s fine. You’re too chatty.”

“You need to unclench, dude. We’re on a treasure hunt, for god’s sake.”

“Are you watching Jane?”

Wynonna tossed a look over her shoulder. “Relax, she’s just—oh crap.” There was a crashing in the kitchen, one that had Wynonna on her feet, tripping over the table bench as she ran on. “Oh crap!”

Close enough to the ground, Nicole recalled the line and landed on her feet, jogging to a halt. “How can I let you in the field if you can’t babysit one cat?”

No answer, just swearing in the distance, more rustling, and a thud. Waverly and Rosita laughed, Nicole smiled again. Jeremy asked if his favorite mug survived.

-

Things were quiet for a bit, the only noise from chattering guards in the distance, equipment being packed into long-parked trucks, and Wynonna cursing the cat as she sprinted about the mess hall after stealing various items.

Jeremy was hard at work trying to gain full control of the drones, though he was hesitant. Surely the moment BBD lost their control the place would be on high alert. It was probably better to wait for an emergency instead. For the moment he stuck to helping the others guide Nicole around, telling her when she was out of view from drone cameras or eyes on the ground.

She stopped behind stacked crates at the sight of five men, walking with flashlights to the dirt. Overheard they were doing one final sweep on the packing process, to make sure they didn’t miss any equipment. She peeked over the top, this stack proving to be too short, the darkness helping hide her nicely. Set her sights on the biggest guy, a reasonable distance away but heading over with each lengthy step. Nowhere else to run, other than completely backtracking and going around. Not enough time. She grabbed for the long bandolier wrapped tightly around her torso. Knives thin enough to fit in her launcher, and darts labeled green and red. She loaded a red, the hallucinogenic formula from Rosita. Left arm aimed with care, right hand tugged back on the spring launcher and flung the dart crossbow-style into the guy’s neck.

She hoped for some sort of distraction, maybe even a fist fight—nothing that involved anyone getting killed. Something in alignment with her style. But then the universe seemed to be set deeply against her, so of course the large man gave off a roaring battle cry and charged for his mates. Happily, only with his fists at first, managing to knock a couple out, until things took a turn and he snapped someone’s neck. And the group’s sole survivor shot him dead in return. Seeing in the near darkness was difficult, but Waverly noted the sudden jump of the camera at the sound. Like it actually scared Nicole. Nicole, who favored a non-lethal method that was constantly shut down, and used an old fashioned launcher and darts, and fought through all of BBD’s forces alone in the big rescue with nothing more than fists and smoke bombs. She was _really_ against guns.

There was a mumbled curse from Nicole at the sight of the lone man, and another when he radioed backup. Rosita told her to take him out, too, so he couldn’t explain what happened. The investigation could buy time. Unfortunately, there was no way to use the green, the sleep formula, because he spotted Nicole when she raised to aim. He sprinted over, gun cocking, finger bracing the trigger, so she had no choice but to hurriedly jam a knife into the launcher instead and shoot. The blade pierced into his shoulder, the pain enough to delay his own shooting, opening a window for Nicole to sprint over and knock the gun from his hand. He dodged a second hit and pulled a knife, and in return Nicole released her gauntlet’s blade and blocked an incoming stab, strong enough to knock that from his grip, too. The team caught a glimpse of the panic on his face before he was knocked unconscious with a swift punch to the head.

Nicole sprinted off after that, circling around in the dark areas to meet the prize, guards and all. Wynonna reappeared and asked a question as she went. She managed to simmer Jane down when Rosita tossed over treats. This job was worse than the time her Uncle Curtis paid her to help on the farm for a summer. She wasn’t sure how, but the second day ended with a barn fire, Champ Hardy stuck in a ditch two miles away, a crop circle, and three very angry cows. She was not asked to work again.

“Hey,” she went, “what happens if you accidentally open that thing and chop your finger off?”

Nicole wasn’t sure why she bothered to answer. Maybe she enjoyed being distracted from certain death looming. “The gauntlet has a lock on the inner pinky, but you’re on your own with the basic blade. Just don’t flex your forearm and you’ll be—Hey, no questions while I’m in the field!”

“Sorry, teacher. I crave your boundless seas of knowledge.”

“Check on the cat.”

“She’s fi—fuck!”

-

Nicole reached the box’s proximity just as a van arrived to pick it up and began to haul it off, alongside other sensitive objects loaded onboard. She shot two knives into the tires, and a sleep dart into the driver for good measure. Problem is, the whole lot now knew for sure she was here, nearby, and readied to shoot on sight. Half the men were combing the land with flashlights for her, the other half at the truck. Jeremy guided her to cover. In the mess hall Wynonna swore she saw Rosita cross herself.

Nicole was in the dark again, not too far from the truck. No telling when a second would rush in, probably with more men. She had three smoke bombs on her, but she knew they’d best be used for the quick exit she definitely needed to make. Can’t risk them following her and Jeremy back to the mine.

“Guys,” she panted, not too proud to hide her rising fear, “guys, any ideas?”

A million shouts at once in her ear, including serious pitches from Wynonna.

“One at a time, one at a time,” Nicole stopped them.

“Use your smoke bombs!” Jeremy blurted. Nicole shook her head.

“No, I’ll need those to get away.”

“Use your darts on the guys at the truck?” Waverly suggested. Nicole shook her head again.

“I can’t shoot enough sleep darts before they’ll trace my location, and the lighting isn’t dark enough to go without cover. Too many eyes here. They’ll take down anyone on hallucinogens right away, so there’s no point in that. Damn, I might _have_ to use the smoke bombs.”

Wynonna was leaning close to the screen, a deep focus to her face. “I have an idea.”

“Not the time, Wynonna.”

“No, I’m serious. Look where you came from.”

Nicole did so, desperate for a solution to this messy scenario, and eyed the setup she hid behind earlier, when initially disabling the truck. More crates with BBD’s logo. Some small boxes on top, its contents poking out.

“Explosives?” she asked, impatient to hear more.

“Throw them far away to lead some of the closer patrols off. Wait a second, then throw another near the truck. You can take them out without killing them; they’ll get knocked out or something.”

A pause. Nicole, calculating the scenarios. “That’s not bad, Earp.”

Wynonna grinned. “I know.”

“Alright, let’s blow some shit up. Exciting enough.”

Another long exhale, a check of her surroundings, and Nicole crouch-ran for her previous cover spot. Closer to the truck, so she stayed for now, despite the bright, dead giveaway lighting here. She proved her arm impressive when the explosive flew more than halfway across the site, and by the sound of it she took down a building or two in the process. Certainly grabbed enough attention. She awaited Wynonna’s cue afterwards, as the woman raked camera to camera and plotted.

More units hustled over to the truck. Not a problem. Jeremy pointed out the perfect distance, where the explosion would be enough to blow them away but not kill anyone. Foolishly, the group crowded by the truck’s back doors and nowhere else.

The second the bomb went off, Nicole rushed over. She used sleep darts on the few not as affected, then hopped into the truck using the unlocked driver’s door. Back doors were bent inward, probably unable to open at all. Nicole was laughing in disbelief.

“Not a bad plan, Earp.”

Wynonna was satisfied, leaning back before nearly falling because she’d forgotten the bench had nothing behind it. “Well, I _am_ the chosen one.”

Waverly laughed at that, because a second ago she nearly toppled backwards.

Nicole rushed inside as quick as possible, tossing around the stacks of crates and weapons to get to the target in the corner. Jeremy warned forces were incoming, including a second truck with more bodies. Of course, her plans to grab the box and run were foiled. Damn thing had a metal wire holding it down to a built-in shelf, and a second coil was wrapped around the box itself to render lock picking pointless. Cutting through it was entirely possible, but it cost time. And Jeremy was, in horror, counting down how long it’d take backup to close in. Nicole was still cutting when he finished.

Rosita and Wynonna were shouting escape plans by the time she forced the wire off and the strongbox’s lock open with her blade. Waverly and Jeremy frantically examined drone cameras over and over.

But Nicole froze, because when she accidentally squeezed the ring too hard in her palm, it cracked. Waverly surged forward to look at the projector on the wall, her head accidentally knocking into the laptops in front of her with the way she was sitting so close.

“It’s a fake!” she declared, and the quick scan Jeremy did proved it true.

Still, Nicole tucked it away. BBD didn’t need to know. All they needed to know was they’d lost this round, and their opponents meant business, business they were capable of performing.

“Someone set them up?” Nicole mumbled, though just now she had no interest in an answer.

She hopped over into the passenger’s seat and made to exit, though Jeremy warned she was within sight. No other choice. Three steps in, just as she prepped to drop a smoke bomb, there was a bullet at her feet, forcing her to halt. She cursed and turned, to find a super soldier-led strike team. Soldier she’d met in the past in front of the pack, making his role clear. Nicole grinned at the challenge of another round.

He was tall, taller than her. Trained so well she looked like a beginner in comparison. Her dodging skills were put to the max when he used that pistol in his hand, a Glock and attached flashlight that looked at home in his grip. Always a calm head, always that same, serious expression. Perfect posture because he was the perfect soldier, beard shaved and hair buzzed. Long sleeve and jacket over it orderly, ironed to formality. All around proper and professional. The loyalty to his beliefs was clear as day in his dark eyes. The dedication clear in the way his safety clicked off.

“Sergeant Xavier Dolls,” Nicole greeted, the challenge she craved deep inside layering her voice. “Good to see you again. Your knife didn’t do enough last time. Back for more?”

“Nicole Haught,” he said, voice as flat as asphalt, “trespassing again. I don’t know what they teach you over there, but that’s illegal.”

“You guys aren’t saints, either.”

“Nicole,” Jeremy whispered, “keep him distracted.”

She nodded. It was already her plan. She eyed the drones ahead, and heard the rapid typing of keys on Jeremy’s end of the line.

Dolls’s aim wouldn’t quit. Not even a twitch. “Come peacefully, Haught, and I’ll see you aren’t harmed.”

“Yeah,” she scoffed, “I’m sure that’s what they told you before they stripped your humanity away.”

His stone expression twitched at that. “Don’t make this difficult.”

Jeremy exclaimed, “Get ready for a lightning-fast exit!”

Nicole fingers found the smoke bombs on her belt. “No problem.”

Instantly, the two drones hovering above fell to Jeremy’s control and self-destructed, exploding in unison. The men directly underneath were injured. Dolls was distracted by the sound long enough for Nicole to drop the bomb, bid him farewell, and sprint off. He fired a few times in what he believed was her direction, before lowering his gun, defeated. When Nicole safely reached Jeremy in the van, adrenaline overtook her and she laughed victoriously. The rest of the team joined in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four, AKA Information Central. (It’ll get exciting soon, I promise). Next chapter we dive back into the old west portion, and it’ll probably be a bit short, too. The back and forth modern day to old west should keep up for a bit, probably until around chapter ten (when things begin to take a big turn :O). Hope y’all’re good with that and it ain’t too weird switching gears so often.
> 
> As always, thank you so very, very much for reading and commenting and leaving kudos, it’s always appreciated.


	5. Sequence 3: Science and Wickedness, Bottled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately there's an era-typical homophobia warning this chapter, folks. Nothing extreme, it's mild, but still worth a mention.

**_[SUBJECT: WYATT EARP]_ **

**_[SOURCE: WYNONNA EARP]_ **

**_[START: SEQUENCE 3, MEMORY 1]_ **

**_[MEMORY START: JULY 14, 1888]_ **

Wyatt was surprised to find, of all the places for killers to hide, the Assassins’ hideout was in a church. And more surprised to find the place empty. Now more than ever seemed appropriate for prayer. He wondered if Clootie was terrible enough to scare faith, hope, man’s greatest weapon, from these people. If so, he was glad to have signed up.

They entered from the cellar in the back and headed directly into the basement. Dust heavy in the air. Broken chairs and unused pews scattered about, as well as a spare podium. Some weapons and ammo resting on top of them. The air forced him to cough, breaking the almost intimidating silence that’d fallen over them since fleeing the cabin in the woods. The way Ambrose turned made him feel he’d stepped on some sort of after-mission tradition.

“I want to apologize, Mister Earp,” Ambrose spoke, lowering the patched hood on his patched uniform. “We voted against summoning you, on Robert’s suggestion, but it seems he decided to take matters into his own hands.”

Robert was looking down at his boots, toeing at a break in the wood floors. He recited, under his breath, “Everything is permitted.”

“And again just today, rushing into the action without so much as a holler.”

Wyatt removed his hat. “I’ll take the blame for that one. I haven’t seen any excitement in a long time. I think I became impatient.”

Ambrose was making to sit on one of the pews, resting a crossbow next to him. Brown, waxed and polished, gleaming in what little light poured in from outside and lit candles inside. Someone was lighting more.

“Now, I’m not too big for my boots, Mister Earp. I’ll admit we need the help, and the help is appreciated.” He was focusing on replacing the missing crossbow bolts on his belt, stopping now to eye Robert. “But, in my opinion, I don’t think it was entirely fair of Mister Svane to disturb you.”

Wyatt looked to his friend, then back to Ambrose as the man resumed his restocking. “It’s quite alright. I am finished with this life, and coming back wasn’t easy, but for Robert I’ll gladly lend a hand.”

Ambrose liked that. “You are a loyal, good man, Mister Earp. I can see why Peeper was in awe of you. You saved him in the past, you know. Dodge City. He’s kept up with you ever since. Heard him say it myself.”

Wyatt shrugged. “He wasn’t familiar to me.”

Ambrose smiled. “Heroes are so busy.” He was on his feet again, hooking his crossbow onto a custom holster on his back. “Peeper and Stevie were respectable enough men back when. Until Clootie made them into something else. I’d like to think they changed for the sake of their survival. Watching their fellow lawmen die probably helped with that. They overheard, from one of Sheriff Clootie’s closer associates, Clootie didn’t trust them. Clootie didn’t believe their allegiance was true, so they made a deal with the local troublemakers to kill you. To prove where they stood. Troublemakers agreed because they thought it’d buy them a free card, too.”

Wyatt shook his head, disappointed. “And now the fools are dead.”

Ambrose nodded, agreeing. “And now the fools are dead.”

“Sounds to me Clootie has made quite the impression.”

“You have no idea, Mister Earp.”

Wyatt raised a palm, “Just Wyatt’s fine, Ambrose.”

“In that case, you may call me ‘Fish’, if you so desire.”

“ ‘Fish’?” Wyatt laughed. “Are you good with the sport?”

Another man, longer haired and beaming, came up behind Ambrose and put his hands on the man’s shoulders. At the touch, Ambrose lit up with a happiness Wyatt found odd.

“No,” the newcomer said, “it’s because he eats anything and everything from the sea every supper—trout, sardines, tuna, salmon, and so on.” He giggled to himself. “Ironically.”

And Ambrose laughed in response at this apparent inside joke, exchanging a look with the man that had Wyatt tilting his head.

“This is Levi,” Robert spoke up, confusing Wyatt’s confusion for something else. “He helps run things around here.”

Ambrose was beaming now, staring into Levi’s eyes. “He does a stellar job, too.”

Wyatt blurted, impulsively, “Son, are you a homosexual?”

Ambrose and Levi fell serious. Robert cleared his throat awkwardly. Levi looked hurt by the word, as if Wyatt had taken that crossbow and shot him sixteen times. Meanwhile Ambrose looked fit to shoot Wyatt.

“Is it a problem if we are, _Mister Earp_?” he asked, and the calmness to him fled. “We may need the help, but we won’t blindly grasp at _any_ straw.”

Wyatt’s hands raised in surrender. “Easy. I was just asking.”

“I _appreciate_ the curiosity.” Judging from his tone: he didn’t.

Robert stepped forward, and the sudden motion seemed to defuse the situation. The last thing they needed was a fight. One between two very skilled, armed men.

“What’s next, Mentor? Any word on Sheriff Clootie?”

Ambrose refocused, clearing his throat, and Levi walked off. Shooting Wyatt a sad look as he went. Wyatt awkwardly looked off. “For now, we’re watching and waiting. We’ll interrogate our new prisoner and see what we can find. Clootie and his wives are still in hiding, with no clues pointing to them just yet. Actually, if you both don’t mind, there is a favor I need.”

Feeling slightly guilty, Wyatt motioned for him to go on. This man was risking his life for the people of Purgatory. Who was Wyatt to judge his love life? As hard as it was to ignore.

“There is a sickness spreading through town. People look like the undead, and foaming at the mouth. It’s a terror. Can you two get to the bottom of it?”

Wyatt accepted without consultation, though Robert was looking to him for the answer anyhow. Right away they made to leave, but were stopped by Ambrose. He rushed over to the lone podium and grabbed a long-nosed .45 Colt Buntline Special, twelve inches. Silver with a pearl handle. Fully loaded, polished and unscratched like it’d never been used before.

“Our previous Mentor, Juan Carlo,” Ambrose explained, “was looking forward to meeting you. He died yesterday, chasing a dead end lead on Constance Clootie. He wanted you to have this, as a gift for helping us. He had connections with the manufacturer. It’s a top of the line piece. Figured it could replace the one you just lost.”

Wyatt felt the weapon in his hands. Good weight, good sights, and the long barrel wasn’t as obstructive as he thought. He traded his old, the revolver from Tombstone’s mayor, and accepted with a nod. Ambrose promised to fix the old one up in the meantime. Wyatt admired the man’s forgiveness as he walked away, all looks of conflict in his eye gone, despite the bluntness of Wyatt’s earlier question and the clear frustration he felt. They might be vigilante killers, but they were friendly company. Wyatt was almost happy he agreed to this.

-

Wyatt finally gave in and undid his coat's buttons, allowing his torso to breathe. They were farther north, but the sun was still ruthless. “Purgatory”, indeed.

The town wasn't unlike the others he'd been, the exception of nearly every single streetlight he passed being broken. There was a general store, post office, stables, hotel, saloon. Basic essentials. Others, too, but Wyatt found he couldn't focus on them just now. He and Robert noted the townsfolk, who appeared healthy enough when they’d arrived today, now pale and quite the picture of sickness. A few they passed were vomiting their lungs out. A handful unconscious on the roads. Coughs, echoing all around. Those who weren’t sick looked more annoyed than concerned for their neighbors. Wyatt heard a well-dressed man complain he couldn’t drink in peace and watched him exit a saloon and ride off. Real standup guy.

One man was rallying a crowd in front of the unoccupied sheriff’s office. Yelling about the “traveler” and his “poisons”. Wyatt rested his hand on the Buntline. Precaution.

“Sir,” Robert inquired, entering the porch where the man stood to be heard, “who is the traveler in question?”

Wyatt stood at a distance. Hand on gun. Feeling like an outlaw. As nervous as an outlaw.

“Some devil science man,” the man answered, voice layered with a southern accent, and Wyatt relaxed. “Entered town this mornin’, talkin’ fancy talk about a health whatsit. Rodent jabbered on and on and on, swindlin’ people to try it. He said it’d make ‘em the picture of health, make ‘em strong as an ox, make ‘em sharp as a knife—all lies! Look at everyone! Look at my Marcy! We’re goin’ to the hotel and settin’ ‘im right!”

Wyatt stopped the man. “Easy, easy. Let’s calm down. I’ll check it out myself. There’s no need to make this into trouble.”

“There’s all the need, sir! Are you the law? ‘Cause we ain’t got no law. The law quit us! If we wanna keep breathin’, we need to step up!”

Wyatt’s palm raised. “Well, I’m your law now, and I’ll handle this. There’s no need for anyone to get hurt.”

“There’s no telling what other tricks this man might have,” Robert added. Seemed to work, the way the man backed off, scared at the thought. As if the traveler was a witch.

“He’s at the hotel,” he offered. “Top floor, last door on the left.”

Wyatt nodded in thanks. “Appreciate it. We’ll be off. Tend to the sick in the meantime, please.”

To Wyatt’s surprise, the man actually did as he was told. He redirected the crowd’s energy to looking after the infected; getting people water, getting people into comfortable beds, picking up those who’d fainted on the streets. Robert gave his friend a satisfied smile at the sight of residents banding together instead of fighting.

“I’m so happy you came here.”

-

The salesman in question was nowhere to be found. He left some of his elixirs in his room, a concoction Robert referred to as, truly, poison. Both adjectively and literally—this man actually poisoned the town. Robert knew the ingredients, scribbled down on a loose paper also thrown in the room. Whoever this was, at least he was sloppy enough to leave behind everything they needed. Including the door, unlocked. Wyatt wondered if the man took a bit of his own product.

“I can’t believe we broke in!” Robert whispered in the silence, and Wyatt woke from the deep thought he wasn’t aware he was having. He looked to his friend, an excitement taking the man.

“Lord have mercy,” Wyatt laughed, “I never thought I’d see the day Robert Svane turned criminal.”

“I suppose I haven’t seen any excitement for a time, either.”

Wyatt only nodded, smile fading, before turning to inspect another bottle. Robert frowned. Wyatt Earp was generally a quiet man, never really spoke unless prompted. But Wyatt Earp was also his friend, so of course he noticed there was something else here, that something was wrong. Wyatt didn’t know why he was surprised when Robert checked in.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Wyatt.”

The bottle in Wyatt’s hand was returned to a dresser. Thin layer of dust coating it. “I’ve been thinking. No troubles here, friend.”

“Is this about Levi and Ambrose?”

Yes, it was, and if it were someone else asking, Wyatt would’ve kept the subject. “Let’s get going, Robert. _He_ is still at large.”

Robert stopped him at the door. Again, if it were anyone else, Wyatt would’ve shut this down.

“They’re not going to force their lifestyle on you,” he tried to explain, “but you have to understand what they’ve been through. The first time I met Ambrose, he’d been attacked. _Attacked_ , Wyatt! For no acceptable reason!”

“They say it’s a sickness, Robert.”

“Even so, did he deserve to be beaten, stabbed, mugged, and left to die in the mud?”

Wyatt was silent.

“That basement is the only place in the world where they can _look_ at one another. Imagine, Wyatt, if you weren’t permitted to look at your Josephine!”

“I have no quarrel, Robert. I am no advocate, either. But I respect how Ambrose wishes to help these people, and how he’s willing to risk his life. I’ll keep my peace, old friend, but don’t ask me to understand.”

Robert eyed him, with an opposition Wyatt had never seen from him. “I suppose I’ll have to take that.”

“I suppose so.”

“Intruders! Intruders in my room!”

The two snapped to the doorway, to find a blond man, spooked. Goggles wrapped around his neck, pistol in his hand. Neither Robert nor Wyatt could draw fast enough, so Wyatt moved for a peaceful solution.

“Sir, are you the seller of these goods?”

“Thieves!” He was loud, and Wyatt couldn’t tell if it was because he was calling for help, or if he was just a loud speaker.

“Have you been selling these around town?” Robert tried. The man moved his aim from Wyatt to him.

“There’s no law against it, I checked!” There was a sort of impediment to his speech. “I’m an honest man, with honest man’s work!”

“Nobody’s accusing you of anything,” Wyatt calmed. “But the townspeople are sick and all point to your products. The ingredients are strange, can you expl—”

Wyatt’s shoulders fell when the man gave in and sprinted off. All the travel, an investigation and shootout in the woods, now this—he really didn’t feel like a chase.

He pushed through, Robert loyally beside him as ever, and pursued the man. They left the hotel’s extensive hall and rounded a curved staircase. Outside the salesman began to shoot over the shoulder. Robert dodged expertly, practiced, a sight Wyatt would’ve never guessed of him. Usually the sound of gunfire was enough to force him quivering into a corner. Today, all day, he barely blinked. Maybe these people _were_ good company; they made a man out of Robert Svane.

Guns remained in holsters. The goal was to try to settle this peacefully, a feat more realistic given their target’s six-shooter was empty now. The people of Purgatory had seen enough trouble already; they didn’t need a dead body on the streets, too.

But things, as always, grew more complicated, the second Wyatt realized the man was headed for his stagecoach. New gun left holster. Bullet left long barrel for the single horse’s feet, but the mare was too brave to get spooked and run. No other horses around, so they'd most certainly fall behind and the man would get away. So Wyatt sighed and shot the salesman the in shoulder as he entered the driver’s seat. He fell from the raised carriage and onto the cold dirt below.

“Apologies,” Wyatt said when he was close enough, “but you gave me no other choice.”

He spat on Wyatt’s boots. Robert looked fit to shoot him again. Wyatt shrugged it off. Not the first time, after all.

“What’s your name, huh? Why poison these kind, honest people?”

Following a motion from Robert, the man tossed his empty gun aside. Extra precaution. “Bubba. Big Bubba.”

Wyatt thought the name ridiculous. “Alright, Big Bubba, care to explain yourself?” He indicated the wound. “Time’s ticking.”

Bubba saw no point in lying. He figured he’d get off easy for being honest. At least, that’s what Wyatt assumed with his sudden and complete confession.

“It was a poison. By me, from him to all of you. Slip it in your drink and the great Wyatt Earp would be great no more! But it didn’t work! It was too slow. He told me to start over. But I couldn’t start over, no, no, I’m not wasteful! I sold it. They said you were gone, gone into the woods, so I sold it for the money! But you survived! You survived, and now he’ll kill me if he gets the chance!”

“Clootie?” Robert asked. Bubba nodded and nodded and nodded.

“You should’ve checked your greed, friend.” Wyatt clicked the safety back on his new revolver and lowered the thing. “Where is Clootie?”

Another gunshot sounded and took Bubba’s life before he could answer. The shooter was gone before they could hope to chase them, too.

Wyatt spat, “Son of a bitch.”

-

“Murdered?” Ambrose was asking. His voice echoed slightly in the empty church basement. Most Assassins headed back onto town with an antidote, also scribbled on the paper from Bubba. Seems Clootie enlisted the wrong person.

“We didn’t see who did it, Mentor,” Robert replied, on top of providing the whole tale.

“I wonder who else he has planted in town. I’m sorry you were in the mix, Wyatt.”

Wyatt shrugged. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Ambrose nodded, almost impressed. “Well, we’ll have to keep an even _more_ careful eye out, I suppose. I don’t know if it’s admirable or cowardly of Clootie, to try to kill so quietly.”

“Cowardly.” Wyatt answered like it was nothing. “You owe it to a man to look him in the eye while he’s dying; this is no worse than shooting someone in the back.”

Ambrose nodded again. “Agreed. I thank you boys. The whole town is in your debt.”

Wyatt’s palm was raised. “I’ll settle for a coffee.”

-

Robert was sent to aid the other Assassins in bringing vaccines to Purgatorians. One or two were already made, but somehow they managed to cook up more, and fast. Resourceful bunch.

Wyatt was invited to stay the night in the church, but he insisted on buying a room at the hotel. Privacy and all that. He let Ambrose accompany him for the short walk, horses still hitched at the church. One or two Assassins looking after them. They made a deal with Purgatory’s stables for supplies.

“Who do you think killed Bubba?” Wyatt asked, and Ambrose appreciated how invested in this he seemed to be.

“From what we’ve seen, there are many dedicated to Sheriff Clootie. Harmless enough to keep alive. I think they’re convinced he’s some sort of god, with that ring. He burned someone’s face with it. Poor Derek.”

“Or they’re afraid of him.”

“Or they’re afraid of him,” Ambrose agreed.

The men stopped on the doorstep of the busy hotel, front entrance open and Assassins running in and out with Bubba’s unsold mixes. Wyatt almost wished Bubba fixed it right the first time, rather than selling the excess to the innocent people with venomous words. Why he even made so much apparently without testing it first was a wonder Wyatt would have at a different time, when he wasn’t dragging his feet in exhaustion. For now, he concluded perhaps Bubba just wasn’t too bright.

“Wyatt, I have to thank you. For not making a situation out of Levi and I, when you could’ve. And I’d like to apologize for getting defensive. I guess we’ve been so comfortable together we lost ourselves. Usually we’re more careful. Assassins are different, you see, from the whispers of the world. We’re all ourselves here. Notice how many former slaves we have, and how they’re treated no different from anyone else.”

Wyatt was still trying to wrap his head around the idea. How many negatives he’s heard about the idea of two men, together. The dangers.

“Do you truly love Levi, Fish?”

The stress on Ambrose’s face dissolved into a loving gaze. Too real to fake. “I have been with many people in my life, Wyatt. I have lost more than I can count, to disease and dishonest men. But none have ever made me as happy as Levi does. I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, but it’s the truth.”

Wyatt cleared his throat. A part of him felt he might understand now, a part blocking out what society taught him. The part that let him think for himself. Besides, Ambrose didn’t seem “wrong” or “sick”. He was a capable man with his heart in the right place, from what he could tell.

“Either way, you’re a good man, Fish. The people need you, and this world certainly needs more people with hearts as generous as yours. If God can’t accept the help you’re doing here, well, I think I might be confused on His intentions.”

A tear fell from Ambrose’s eye, and Wyatt parted with him for the night. Such a thing was unheard of, speaking against God. Robert was in the right when he suggested bringing in Wyatt. Because Ambrose was convinced the man was a hero with a golden soul.

**_[END: SEQUENCE 3, MEMORY 1]_ **

**_[END: SEQUENCE 3]_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only every homophobe could be swayed so easy, especially back then, right? In truth, the earlier parts of the 1800s no one really thought anything of same-sex intercourse, then, y'know, everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked and here we are. Sadly.
> 
> Also historically, Wyatt receiving the Buntline Special from Ned Buntline is a thing that has been largely discredited, so I thought I'd switch it up for Peacemaker's sake, to say he didn't get the stubborn ol' thing until his new buds gave it to him. Thought it'd be better like that, as a gesture of good fortune between them.
> 
> We are slowly trekking on through this beginning portion, and personally I cannot wait to get to the turning point of this story. As much as I, truly, love wordbuilding, it's freakin' killing me. But I am looking forward to the next chapter, it'll be a bit of a break from all this info and build up and be a nice little training session between Nicole and Wynonna. Which, with those two, can go any direction. Thank y'all so much for reading.


	6. Take A Look At This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re ever so curious, dearest, beautiful reader, there were three songs I had basically on an endless loop while writing most of this chapter. Don’t know why, guess they just got me in the right mindset. First one’s the chapter title, too.
> 
> Take A Look At This, by Zayde Wolf [(Spotify),](https://open.spotify.com/track/4iuHthboiUG4De0BoRSCoJ?si=wDckpAvwQeugaplAttKGlg) [(YouTube)](https://youtu.be/vjF4REQmr24)  
> Next Level, by Zayde Wolf [(Spotify),](https://open.spotify.com/track/7C8I0l8YUjOdID7kNTpdRn?si=OwS5kN-zQpO-KMYIwQ9j-Q) [(YouTube),](https://youtu.be/KtanVUtRjZU)  
> Red Arrow, by Nicholas Hill, Glenn Herweijer, and Ben Summer [(Spotify)](https://open.spotify.com/track/1P9PRRtVJLVc9bPbasvD21?si=4mnXsgT4Q5-eUfYLt4aY-w)
> 
> I’d like to thank Katherine Barrell for the greatest unintended pun in human history, because damn did I use that shit this chapter, lemme tell ya
> 
> Fun fact: a typo for “Wyatt” is “Watt”, and at four in the morning that is friggin’ hilarious

_October 4, 2016_

“You’re an asshole and I can’t wait to make you eat my boot!”

Wynonna wiggled her fingers uncomfortably, right arm twisted behind her back and protesting left pinned overhead. Nicole, her captor, suddenly pushed her forward and she stretched out both arms in silent gratitude. She wiped the sweat from her brow, then looked back to Nicole. Lips pulled in an almost-grin, smug, not a single sweat broken. Asshole.

Wynonna charged for her, yelling comically, fist raised, and felt a frustration grow as Nicole, almost effortlessly, dodged each and every one of the flurry of punches she unleashed. Somehow she managed to dart behind Wynonna and pushed her again, watching as the Assassins’ Chosen One bumbled forward and cursed.

It’d been like this awhile now. Yesterday Wynonna happily completed Sequence 3, annoyed with the short length and the snail race pace they were going. Despite working for basically one hour, she was on break again today. She was so close to kicking everyone out and sifting through Wyatt’s memories nonstop by herself until they found what they needed. Before BBD swooped in and killed them all.

Today, Waverly was busy going through the collected data, noting important events that stood out, and cataloguing other things for historical purposes. She still hadn’t finished Sequence 2 yet. The first one they did. So of course she wasn’t down to babysit Wynonna’s BBD paranoia, as bad as she felt turning her down.

So Wynonna bummed about, briefly practiced pulling out Peacemaker duel-at-high-noon style, running over what cool Hollywood superhero movie thing she’d say to Lucado when next they met. Currently, she settled on, “Hands where I can see ‘em, Shoulder Pads! I’ve come to drink whiskey and kick ass—and I’m all out of whiskey!” God, she missed whiskey.

Playing Cool Superhero lasted about twenty minutes. An unfairly long twenty minutes, because everything these days seemed to move so damn slow. Then she remembered Nicole promised to train her for field work. Play Cool Superhero for real. Nicole was scaling the nearby cliff side, and if she’d chosen to forgo using a harness, the way Wynonna suddenly popped from nowhere and yelled “Hey, Instant Star!” and scared the living hell out of her would’ve left her a smushed blot on the mud below.

Come to think of it, maybe that’s why she was taking so much joy in kicking Wynonna’s ass without even kicking Wynonna’s ass. Suddenly Wynonna wished she was still doing something dull and boring.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you, you sadist?” she sneered, and Nicole’s cocky grin only grew.

“Ready to give up, Earp?” she tossed back, and Wynonna narrowed her eyes in a way that refused. “Come on then, focus up!”

She swept at Wynonna’s legs and floored her so fast Wynonna couldn’t even shoot something witty back. All she could do was curse on the way down, crashing onto the mat.

Behind them, sitting at the mess hall’s no longer lone table, Waverly winced at the sound. Jeremy was sitting at one of the work desks that’d been moved in for mission use. Rosita tried to do it herself, but Nicole jumped in and told her not to strain her leg. She also promised to make more desks. She could have a career in woodworking, and everyone wondered where the hell she learned it (no way she actually turned to YouTube videos for lessons), or where she was even getting screws to hold things together.

“Can’t you guys use pillows or something?” Waverly asked, a pained look to her for her sister’s sake. “Or elbow pads? Helmets?”

Wynonna didn’t move from the ground, panting. “No. When I hit Haught, it better be for real.”

“ _If_ you hit me,” Nicole corrected, and Wynonna flipped her off. “You should think less; you have a great gut instinct.”

Huh. A compliment from the broody Assassin who doesn’t do the “assassin” part. Or much of anything but hanging out with the world’s rudest cat. And singing the same damn song over and over like a broken record. (Did she know what a record was?)

Wynonna accepted the hand Nicole offered, stretching her arm once she was on her feet.

“Yeah, I have a handful of exes that’d beg to differ. Hey, I saved your life at the stupid dig site and you won’t go easy on me?”

“Nuh uh, it makes us even for the BBD save.” Nicole returned to her fighting stance, fists in front of her, one in front of her face and one slightly lower to guard her torso as her face was. Back hunched slightly over, being taller and all, legs strong. “Come on, hands up!”

Wynonna’s hands were up in surrender, as if complying to a shooter’s demands. “Take me in, officer!”

Nicole didn’t see Wynonna wasn’t ready, and did a quick half-spin to accelerate a controlled kick at Wynonna’s torso. She gasped when Wynonna was hit.

“Oh, shit! I thought you were ready!”

“I knew it!” Wynonna coughed, clutching her aching stomach. “You have been stealing moves from Mortal Kombat!”

Nicole laughed. If _that’s_ what Wynonna chose to be mad about, she wouldn’t complain. “Yes, fine, I did. Scorpion’s pretty cool.”

Wynonna coughed again, as she began collapsing slowly forward. “Sub-Zero all the way.”

-

They continued back and forth, Wynonna attempting poor holds Nicole broke out of with the same energy it took to flick a wrist. So she went the Earp way and resorted to insults and distracting phrases, all of them being terrible “Haught” puns, all of which Nicole already heard before. There was a sparring break to teach Wynonna better hold techniques and reminders to watch her opponent, pounce when they’re distracted. Three more rounds and no victories yet, but some improvements. Better timing for counters, somewhat successful blocks, messier form. Probably just tired. Maybe two or three more goes before they’d quit for the day.

“Relax, Earp,” Nicole offered, the two of them circling one another defensively. “Don’t focus on winning; winning’s not important. Just focus on defense. Staying alive.”

Her left arm swung, wrist absent of the usual hidden blade and its attached tools (weird how she’d forgotten what her own hand looked like), and Wynonna successfully dodged. Nicole nodded her approval.

Waverly had taken a break for tea, and despite her sister’s distracting noises and Nicole’s distracting _everything_ , she’d been making great progress. If she kept on pushing she’d catch up by the end of the hour. Still, she took the time to call, “Don’t be a hothead!” at her sister, bouncing up and down energetically on the mat.

Nicole chuckled at that, the tension of her and Wynonna’s current standoff escaping for a second. _Distracted_! Wynonna jumped at the chance and swept at Nicole’s feet, frozen to shock as her opponent actually toppled over.

Then she was cheering, yelling victoriously and jumping up and down. So Nicole stole the moment by yanking at her legs, and soon Wynonna was collapsing next to her. Nicole’s cocky grin returned.

“Always have your guard up, Earp.”

Wynonna groaned for long, almost yelling to the ceiling, “You asshole, you couldn’t let me have this one thing?”

Nicole sat up, satisfied. “Don’t touch the cheese next time.”

Wynonna groaned again, all the way through Nicole helping her off the ground and stopping only after a second of doing so in her face. Nicole said her breath stunk.

Waverly watched them approach, water bottles awaiting, and tried with her entire soul to not stare at how _nicely_ Nicole’s tank top fit her. How it hugged all the right—She forced her eyes on her sister. Teasing, “Congrats on your miracle victory! Statistically, it was bound to happen eventually.”

Wynonna tossed her a death glare, but Waverly was smiling so innocently Wynonna felt _she_ was the one stirring trouble. Nicole, on the other hand, was laughing, and Wynonna found her joy suspicious.

“Chipper today,” she grumbled, sitting next to her. “Got drugs stashed in that hippie van or are you finally falling for us Earps, Haught?”

Nicole, unintentionally, but almost on reflex, looked to Waverly, who was staring with a curious interest of her own. They both froze a moment before Nicole awkwardly cleared her throat. Somehow Wynonna didn’t notice. Jeremy nearly fell from his seat peeking over, eyes wide.

“You are not my type Earp,” she tried to recover, cool, and accidentally said so while still eyeing Waverly. Waverly knew it was directed at her sister, but couldn’t help but feel hurt by it. Rejected.

Then she stopped herself. What were these thoughts?

Clearly Nicole felt some similar weirdness, the speedy way she shoved her bottle against her mouth, eyes in a panic, changing her attention to Wynonna when her mouth was clear again. “I think it’s just adrenaline from the dig site.” Spoke a little quickly, too.

Waverly scoffed, almost mad. Yesterday Nicole was back to her mellow self. Again, Wynonna didn’t seem to notice. Nicole slouched, feeling she’d done something wrong.

“Well,” Wynonna said, “at least I’m getting useful life skills out of this. Next time I owe Dave money, _I’ll_ be the one kicking _his_ ass!”

Nicole shook her head. “Incorrect.”

“Y’know,” Jeremy chimed, leaning far out of his seat again, also almost falling off again, “there are rumors someone’s learned skills from their ancestors with the Bleeding Effect. Maybe you’ll pick up something from Wyatt!”

Wynonna considered. “Huh. Well, I always did want an old timey mustache. I’ll get wax and curl it, too.” With false cheer, “And be a homophobic old fart, too!” She rolled her eyes at the concept before looking to Nicole specifically. “Waverly told me no one really cared about same-sex relationships in the early 1800s. Then religious assholes used religion as an excuse and here we are. That seriously pisses me off. Why couldn’t they just leave it alone?”

“I wish I knew,” Jeremy answered, somber.

Nicole was looking down at her fingers. One upside to being stuck with the Assassins all her life: no homophobes. No racists, either. In fact, no one cared about her obvious crush on Shae Pressman. Or the fact they’d hooked up a few times over the years. She pondered using the influence of the Assassins to rid the world of social injustices next. Go the full vigilante, the full Batman.

“At least it’s getting better,” Jeremy added after a small, uncomfortable silence. Nicole and Waverly nodded.

“Well,” Nicole moved to change the subject, “there’s no way Wynonna’s using the Animus enough for that. Besides, she could go crazy. Too risky.”

“I once got arrested for streaking in Rome,” Wynonna grumbled. “Rome! Now _that_ is crazy.” She became serious. “But wait, what is this again?”

“The Bleeding Effect,” Jeremy repeated, slow and clear. Waverly turned to listen, as well. Concerned. “It’s when prolonged exposure to the Animus starts to blend your ancestor’s memories and yours.”

Nicole added, “So you start to see things from Wyatt’s time. Maybe even Wyatt himself.”

“So basically she’ll get DID?” Waverly asked, voice laced with worry. Wynonna shoved Nicole.

“Thanks for the head’s up.”

“You’ll be fine,” she assured. “But if it does happen we’ll stop you, don’t worry. It’s the other reason we have you take so many breaks.”

“And short Sequences?” Nicole nodded, drinking more water. Waverly still looked worried. So Wynonna grabbed her hand to soothe her.

“Did Willa go through this?” Waverly asked. She surprised herself; it was the first time she asked about her. Not in a grudge kind of way, but a she’s-dead-and-it’s-super-painful way. Even if they were never close and Willa kind of hated her.

“Of course,” Nicole answered, honestly. “Know how many times she tried to kill Lucado?”

“A lot,” Jeremy called from his work corner.

Wynonna raised her eyebrows. “Huh, that makes me kind of want it now.” She winced at the look of terror Waverly shot her. “Joking! Joking. I’ll take her out my way.” She let go of Waverly’s hand and raised her fists. “Street style!”

She was beyond relieved to see the smile on her baby sister’s face.

-

Wynonna’s insisted training wasn’t over just yet, but even she wasn’t opposed to a break. A break she spent messing with her sister, poking or pinching Waverly or making bad impressions of Wyatt. Waverly cursed her left headphone for blowing out, because she could hear _all_ of her sister and ignore _none_ of it. She was close to sparring a few rounds with Wynonna, herself.

Jeremy was still typing away at his computer, hacking into BBD’s bank accounts and misdirecting emails about the new Animus. Sending fake ones with fake maintenance reports, too. Careful not to get caught, but ready to destroy his laptop if he was. The second of the three laptops was a throwaway as well, and there were was a fourth in Nicole’s van for missions only. Missions only because he believed that one was good luck. The current computer Waverly used was his personal one, not for use in hacking and also holding all the memories they’d recorded from Wyatt.

And Nicole laying was on the ground, Calamity Jane inviting herself to sit on her stomach like furniture. Nicole swore the little monster was putting weight on.

Wynonna was poking Waverly’s cheek, who by now finally gave in and stopped fighting, when she asked, “Hey, it’s getting late. What’s on the dinner menu, Chef Chetri?”

Nicole answered for him, right away, “His uncle’s recipe!” And Jeremy turned to her, confused. “Hey, I didn’t technically turn it down.”

Wynonna added, beyond curious of whatever dish this was going to be, “If anything, do it for our anniversary. We’ve been a team a full week now—well I’ve been—and nobody’s died yet. That is cause for celebration.”

Jeremy cursed. Couldn’t turn _that_ down. “Which one?”

“The one he learned in Trinidad.”

Smug grin to her again, a contagious sight that spread to Waverly. Before she scolded herself mentally and got back to work. Wynonna gave her chin one last squeeze before standing up. Walked to Nicole, lightly kicked at her boots. Calamity Jane staring up at her like she was bound to kill her. She was an asshole, too.

“Yo, Haught Fudge, what’s next?”

Nicole spared a laugh. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“I used all the good ones already. Except ‘Haught Sauce’. I’m saving that. It’s a classic.”

“How exciting.” Nicole stood, Calamity Jane protested, and Wynonna motioned for an answer.

“Throwing knives? Sword fighting? Parkour? Disguises? Super secret spy talk?”

Nicole walked off. “Yeah, no, none of those things.” She indicated the VR shooting gear. “Let’s test your skills with that iron, cowgirl.”

Flatly, “Yeehaw.”

Wynonna inspected the fake handgun. All white, no color. Probably 3D printed. Realistically represented a standard Glock.

“How did Jeremy make this so fast?” she asked. “And design a whole program?”

Nicole was walking back to Waverly, at the bench, sole survivor of its kind. Some wireless connectors in hand. “It all belongs to the Brotherhood. We had a team of super brains with too much time on their hands, and they made a whole mess of ‘em back at the old setup. You know, before Black Badge beat its location out of someone and burned it all to shit.”

“Leaving us in an unheated, two-star summer camp.” Wynonna shivered suddenly at the thought of the snowfall outside. Already. Still felt like May, to her. And how is it Nicole wasn’t freezing right now?

Wynonna felt the gun in her hand. She expected it to be unsettling, like Peacemaker sometimes was, but it was alright. Maybe because she knew it was fake. Maybe because she knew it wasn’t the one responsible for _that_ deed. Then she paused. “Wait a minute, I’m sorry, where’d you get this set?”

“A store room in BBD’s building, while we were getting you. Why?”

“Didn’t you guys stop for takeout, too?” Nicole nodded. “Did you focus on springing me, like, at all?”

Nicole shrugged. “What’s the harm in multitasking?”

Wynonna cursed her.

-

Nicole told her to wait to put the gear on, so naturally Wynonna threw it on immediately out of spite. Unfortunately, the program, originally transferred through a flash drive, was only downloaded onto the laptop Waverly was using. But luckily she had just a few seconds left, so Nicole patiently waited. A gesture Waverly deeply appreciated. And was beginning to feel spoiled on, because Nicole was a patient person and Waverly grew up with none of that, as great as Gus and Curtis were. Meanwhile Wynonna pretended it was running and made her own shooting sound effects. Chosen One. Only hope against Black Badge.

But Waverly was finding trouble in focusing. Not because of her obnoxious sister, but because of the obnoxious, unexpectedly pleasant presence of Nicole Haught, leaned against the table, _right_ next to her. Her hands were gripping the table edge and Waverly took extensive note of the eagle tattoo on the inside of her left wrist. She never thought anything of Champ’s tattoos other than the certain ones that just seemed plain stupid, like the beer can on his right calf, but _Jesus Christ was that hot._ She hadn’t broken a sweat all day and smelled of vanilla dipped donuts. Waverly hated it. “Hated” it. No— _hated_ it. (What the hell were these feelings?)

She also noted how Nicole specifically instructed Wynonna to double check the sound was headset only. No speakers. Waverly remembered how she _jumped_ at the sound of gunfire. When it definitely wasn’t her first time hearing it. And now, how she twitched when the equipment gave a realistic kick when Wynonna shot. Small, being a handgun, but still enough to upset her. Odd.

Despite the clear discomfort she judged Wynonna’s skills honestly. And honestly: not bad. Long distance was troublesome, but otherwise it seemed Wynonna was at home with the piece in her hand. And, by correlation, the piece on her hip once belonging to her ancestor.

“You good to do a second round?” Nicole asked. Wynonna thought it was kind. She knew the concern was aimed not at her exhaustion from sparring, but the fact the last time she held a gun, Ward died. A mutual understanding, maybe?

“Sure,” she agreed, VR visor making her face the complete wrong direction, “let’s kick more virtual ass!”

Round two, round three. Preset scenarios, dumbed-down AI. If it were a game difficulty it’d be “Easy”. When Wynonna realized this she insisted bumping it not one level, but _all_ the way up. Nicole refused. So she tried exploring the limited menu options she was provided. She froze at profile names, ripping off her headset with a silly expression to her, jaw gaping.

“No fucking way, Nicole!”

Nicole raised an eyebrow, and Waverly unearthed herself from her work. Organizing the written notes she made. She insisted paper was better, because typing on a document made a cluttered mess. Nicole was surprised; she wasn’t sure Wynonna actually _knew_ her first name. She’d certainly never said it before.

“Your middle name is ‘Rayleigh’?”

Nicole sighed. Great. A whole ‘nother set of puns there.

“You’re fucking joking,” and Wynonna was snickering like a child. Waverly shook her head, trying not to laugh. Nicole sighed again.

She tried to improve the situation, “It means ‘warrior of justice’.”

“Actually,” Jeremy corrected, “it means ‘someone who lives next to a rye field’.” Clearly given it some thought himself. Wynonna laughed harder.

“My parents tried their best,” Nicole muttered.

“ _Rayleigh_ Haught sauce!” Wynonna wheezed, doubled over. Nicole shook her head. Damn, they should’ve sparred second.

“If it makes you feel better,” Waverly stifled giggles of her own, “Wynonna’s middle name is something _deep_ south.”

Nicole snorted, “More southern than ‘Wynonna’?”

“Worse than ‘Wyatt _Berry Stapp_ Earp’.”

Wynonna was calming down. Though not by much. “Leave it to him to not have a cool name. ‘Wild Bill’. ‘Curly Bill’.” She pointed to the cat, licking at her paw. “ ‘Calamity Jane’. ‘Billy the Kid’. ‘Wyatt Berry Stapp Earp’. Loser. Stupid boring narc.” She burst into laughter. “ _Rayleigh_ stupid!”

Nicole bit the inside of her cheek. If she laughed, Wynonna won. No way in _Hell_ was that happening. “If I grant you the stupid difficulty, will you shut up?”

Wynonna nodded. Then grinned, evil. “If I lose, I’ll stop.”

Nicole smiled, confidently.

-

Nicole cursed, outraged.

Wynonna beat the god damned course! How! All she did half the time was scream and swing the stupid gun around! With a near perfect score!

Nicole fell onto the table’s bench. Devastated. It felt like the apocalypse was inbound, top speed. Cue the zombies.

Wynonna walked over, slow, satisfied, victorious, _evil._ “Rayleigh, Rayleigh, Rayleigh, you’re in the shit now, bud.”

Nicole’s head fell into her hands. “I fucking hate this job.”

Wynonna bathed in the delicious glory a minute, then she was whistling at Waverly. Who shot her a look, because she wasn’t a dog that needed to be whistled at. Got plenty of that crap working at Shorty’s for so long.

Indicating one of the long guns, perfect replica of a basic pump-action double-barrel shotgun, “You’re next, kid. If you want to stay here and do this whole thing, you need to be able to protect yourself.”

Waverly looked to Nicole, hoping for backup. Rosita tried to get her to run the VR course plenty of times, but she always lucked out and managed to wiggle out of it. She thought it was pointless, and maybe the thought of using a gun scared her, because it meant it was very probable she’d have to get into a real combat situation with a real human person who probably had decades of training as opposed to her days and she was technically an Assassin and Assassins were walking targets BBD was hungry to make a bull’s eye off of. It made her head spin, in short.

But Nicole was nodding, agreeing. So she set her pencil aside.

“I’m fine. All you have to do is point and shoot. I know how to hold a gun. I’m all set.” With all those westerns Uncle Curtis used to make her watch with him, she was _definitely_ all set.

She looked back to her notes to emphasize how little she cared for the VR training. Wynonna crossed her arms, bumping Nicole.

“Help me out here, Rayleigh.”

Nicole grumbled at the name. “Look, just humor us. You deserve a little break.”

An idea Waverly didn’t believe—what was so hard about scribbling notes? On something everyone here saw, too? About a time period she literally studied for years and could recite event-for-event at the drop of a hat?

Wynonna could tell she wasn’t going to budge. “Need I remind you—” she stepped in and leaned in closer— “of the grape soda incident?”

Waverly went pale, and suddenly her nostrils felt weird. “Fine. Fine! Quickly, okay?”

Wynonna happily tossed the headset over and made to grab the 3D printed shotgun on one of the newly transferred desks. Waverly jumped at the opportunity to lean close to Nicole. Radiating a warmth that made Nicole’s mouth dry.

“Wynonna’s middle name starts with a ‘W’, too,” she whispered. “As in ‘WWE’. As in ‘World Wrestling Entertainment’.”

She walked off like nothing. Nicole smiled, plotting revenge.

-

Eight tries, seven virtual deaths. Average six of twenty targets killed each round. A realistic recoil so powerful Waverly swore her shoulder was bruised now. Her face went red.

“ _Rayleigh_ not your best,” Wynonna laughed, and Nicole looked slightly terrified by the results. “Easy little point-and-shoot, huh? If you die in real life, baby girl, I swear to God I will kill you.”

 Aggressive pointing in Waverly’s face to make her point. Waverly almost looked embarrassed. Shit, Waverly _was_ embarrassed! But determined. She demanded another round. Even Jeremy had better scores, and the man could barely aim proper.

He happily made this point as he left the mess hall. Rosita called him in for help, wherever she was today, so why not drop the bomb and run? (Nicole mumbled something about kicking Rosita’s ass if she was doing more heavy lifting.) Waverly called him a traitor on the way out. She considered them close, as close as isolated workplace friends could get in a few weeks. He was supposed to have her back in these situations!

At the last second, before the next try, Wynonna somehow caught Nicole off guard. “Somehow” meaning “easily”, because Pouting Waverly was adorable and Nicole was a hopeless, staring mess. Wynonna was happily oblivious and thought nothing of it.

Then Wynonna was rolling around on the ground, tears escaping her as she laughed at Waverly’s terrified screams. Nicole laughed sympathetically. Wynonna set it to the highest difficulty.

-

“Oh no, there are two of you.”

Jeremy eyed Nicole and Wynonna, innocent looks to them, as they hovered in the kitchen. His uncle’s recipe bubbling in the pot as it boiled. Whiskey clutched tightly like a priceless treasure in Wynonna’s hand, because it turns out Rosita broke group protocol and went into town on a supply run. She’d lied and told everyone she was going on her usual walk. Nicole was furious. More so because she told Jeremy and Jeremy actually kept his promise to stay silent. Jerk. Stupid, loyal, trustworthy jerk.

“Please get out of the kitchen,” he asked of the two, and neither budged. Nicole because she’d been awaiting this meal, something Jeremy made before, and didn’t cash in the favor yesterday because everyone was working and it didn’t seem fair bothering Jeremy to make anything harder than pasta (as many times as they’d eaten pasta now). Short Sequence or not. Wynonna because eating food was her second passion, right next to not being hunted by a secret organization.

Visibly frustrated, “You’re only distracting me. Do you _want_ me to burn the whole thing?”

He stirred at the pot, browned rice and peas whirling around the spoon, chicken in a separate pot because only three of the five here actually ate chicken. Wynonna and Nicole shared a considering look, surrendering a second later and leaving. Jeremy thanked them. Then cursed them, because he’d forgotten to check up on the chicken and it began to sizzle.

Wynonna immediately called dibs on the Playstation 4, starting up _Mortal Kombat X_ and declaring, again, Sub-Zero was superior. Insert billionth “Rayleigh” pun. She made Waverly take another break and join her, and Waverly begged for her to turn the gore off. She did not.

Nicole sat across from Rosita at the mess’s original table, noting easily the look of disgust to her as she read a news article.

“I cannot believe—” she muttered after a second— “America is still letting _that man_ run. And people are eating that shit up! My parents were Mexican immigrants. Know how many bad things they did in their lives? One—accidentally buying spoiled milk at the store. Our neighbor, all-American man? Murdered his wife and two-year-old for disturbing his football game.” She tossed the phone onto the table. “Bullshit.”

Nicole was resting her head against her hand. “I’m sorry. Shae used to say people really like to kiss evil’s ass.”

“They _really_ do,” Rosita agreed. She let out a long exhale and collected herself. “Anyway, how’re you doing? How’d the training go?”

Nicole’s eyes found the Earp sisters, Waverly looking away with a sick expression as Wynonna’s Sub-Zero ripped her Kitana’s spine out. Wynonna laughing. _She_ was the true sadist.

“She’s actually really good, so I’m pissed I was wrong. Lots of potential under all that sarcasm.” She thought of something and grinned. “Actually, I’m happy; Ewan was wrong, too. Again. Seriously, though, girl can shoot.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll have a field partner soon.”

“Sure. But she won’t be going on supply runs.” A dangerous glare to her oldest friend. “Because that would be risky and very dumb of her.”

Rosita gave an apologetic look. “I _did_ say I’d do the run personally, didn’t I?” Nicole was not amused. “And I took my car this time, so I didn’t scratch up the van.”

The same chaotic day Nicole stole her own vehicle, she stole a second for Rosita. It was right after she’d been shot, so things were dire. Nicole stayed behind for some unfinished business before ditching the scene herself. She thought she’d been driving off for good, no more Brotherhood, but here she was. Livin’ the dream.

“I don’t care about the stupid van. We have these rules for a reason. And don’t you dare say something about being Mentor.”

Rosita surrendered, hands raised. Nicole looked back to the Earps. Waverly was _hell bent_ on not letting Wynonna win and do another stupid, bloody, overly graphic Fatality.

“I’m sorry the dig site went so badly.” Though she’d apologized a thousand times already. “Especially because the ring was fake. Is it good or bad we kept it?”

She’d considered it, in length. Good: Black Badge knew they were capable and not screwing around. Bad: Black Badge knew they were capable and not screwing around. Probably took that as a challenge. They controlled the playing field here; they had the numbers.

“Who put it there in the first place?” Nicole wondered. “Constance? Why wasn’t she working with her husband? Why trick him?”

Rosita was looking on Wynonna now, again defeating Waverly, easily. “We will find out. Hopefully.”

“Quickly. Hopefully.”

Rosita looked at Nicole, and in return Nicole looked back. “Thank you for coming back, Nicole. You could’ve been done with this life, finally. Like you always wanted. I can never repay you for this.”

She gave a small smile. “Just don’t die on me. If you leave me in charge of these people, I might actually work my ass off to keep them safe. And I would hate you so _much_ for making me stay longer.”

Rosita laughed. Then became serious after a beat. “We’re okay though, right?”

Nicole nodded. “Just— _please_ have a cooler head on missions, okay? Nothing like the ‘you’re on your own’ thing again. Ever. I know it’s a lot of pressure and it’s stressful, but please.”

“You got it. I promise you.”

There was another silence between them. Jeremy yelling when he accidentally touched the burning pot with his bare fingers. Calamity Jane pouncing on Wynonna’s wiggling controller charger cord. Allowing Waverly a victory, and she cheered as Wynonna cursed Calamity Jane to a life of . . . calamity. Waverly laughing, so hard, so happy. Rosita saw Nicole shake her head slightly. Thinking something over. Smiling. So Rosita smiled.

“I love seeing you in a good mood, Nicole.”

Then she left Nicole with her thoughts, grabbing a drink from their stolen mini-fridge and checking in with Jeremy. Calamity Jane jumped on the table, and Nicole absently pet at her. Didn’t really notice as the cat purred and rubbed against her hand, petting without obstruction because she still hadn’t put her gauntlet back on.

The sisters laughed again, and Nicole cursed at their joy. Seriously, every God damn them. She was trying so desperately not to get attached to these people, because getting attached was a dangerous game she’d already played and lost horribly. She even set herself at a distance! She was here to help Rosita, make sure she didn’t die or get hurt, and leave once those stupid rings were destroyed, so this hunt would never get a part two. Not bond with Jeremy, laugh at Wynonna’s terrible jokes, have _very_ _gay_ feelings for one Waverly Earp, and actually _enjoy_ an adrenaline-induced theft and ongoing rivalry with super soldier Sergeant Dolls.

She wasn’t supposed to be in a good mood today or ever while this sci-fi shit was going its course, feeling that stupid, god awful (wonderful) flood of positives she felt right now that made her smile; smile because she made it out of the dig site when things most certainly were not in her favor and just maybe her team was beyond capable of doing this thing; smile because her best friend’s disability’s worst feature was making her walk a little funny, when it could be something much worse instead; smile because Jeremy was a better recruit than she expected, and she expected him to be quite the bumbling fool, not the friend she’d made; smile because Waverly Earp smiled like _that_ and looked like _that_ and she wasn’t supposed to have those thoughts but damn it—; smile because Wynonna really, truly might shape up to be the unsung hero Mentor Ewan rejected for being “unworthy”.

Smiling because, for the first time in a long friggin’ time, she had a really, really, _Rayleigh_ good day.

This wasn’t going the way she quite expected it to, because they were still alive, and she was starting to believe maybe this job wasn’t so bad.

And she certainly wasn’t supposed to picture these people in her life once all this was over, running a food truck or whatever they’d be up to, together, happy, _alive._

Stupid BBD Templars.

Stupid best friend Rosita.

Stupid Earps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waverly, you’re very gay, sweetie, you biconic masterpiece
> 
> Me? Sneaking in a MKX and Scorpion reference? Wild. My other option was one of his fire-related moves but like… Nicole’s not Pyrokinetic. Yet. (His move was the “Hop Kick”, in case I did a terrible job explaining.) Also, I disagree with myself. Wynonna would totally play as Johnny or Cassie Cage, come on.
> 
> VR wasn’t really totally where it is now back in 2016, but, like, they’re Assassins and looking for magical rings, so anything’s possible, man.
> 
> As a member of a very Trinidadian family, I felt very obligated to mention the dish Pelau, and if you’re lookin’ for a new thing to cook or whatever, go for it! Basically it’s just rice made with brown sugar and peas and chicken. Ate it so much as a kid I can’t friggin’ stand it now, so that’s a… thing.
> 
> Next chapter is a huge unknown right now, because the ending of this chapter really pushed things more ahead than I had planned (Nicole seeing this whole thing and these people as kind of a good thing). Point being I might cut the next modern day and morph the two upcoming old west chapters into one so nothing else gets messed up. In short: next chapter could be long, could be short. It’s 3 AM and I have no idea. But surprises are good, right?
> 
> Update: Long, it should be long, with two whole modern day chapters to follow (one of which may or may not be a Nicole backstory chapter :O)


	7. Sequence 4: The Jack of Knives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Removed timestamps from previous chapters and future ones, but I'll be keeping the dates. Personally, it helps me keep track of the timelines, especially when considering things in a realistic sense. 
> 
> This chapter is perhaps more gorey than the others. All it is is just the mention of what the Jack of Knives does (recall that fun scene in 108), but I do not go into detail. Because… gross.

**_[SUBJECT: WYATT EARP]_ **

**_[SOURCE: WYNONNA EARP]_ **

**_[START: SEQUENCE 4, MEMORY 1]_ **

**_[MEMORY START: JULY 15, 1888]_ **

 

Wyatt was settling into Purgatory’s saloon. Ordering a coffee, readying to gamble. He reported to the church first thing (and thought it troubling there was no one inside on a Sunday), but found there were no leads to investigate today. Just dead ends on the Clooties, dead ends on the people Sheriff Clootie was apparently inviting to Purgatory to stir trouble. Wyatt cursed the man’s cowardice. Why hide?

So he walked around the small settlement, bought a few new bullets for his new gun of different caliber, .45. No one had called on him yet, as promised. Gambling it was.

Or not, because when he turned to pick a table he found Ambrose, alone, lost in thought. A man ought to be left alone to think, but Wyatt joined him anyhow. Even bought another drink.

“Good morning again, Wyatt,” he greeted, accepting the offered coffee with a thankful nod.

Wyatt sat next to him. Sunlight shining on their faces from the window just on their left. “Pardon me, but you do look exhausted.”

“Well, I certainly feel exhausted,” Ambrose laughed, small, and rubbed at the stubble on his face. “Oh, I have some good news for you. I overheard it myself, walking into town.”

“Oh yeah?” Wyatt set his drink down, steam piping out of it.

“There were some people with mixed opinions on you, as I’m sure you might’ve noticed.”

Wyatt snorted.

“News is slow here. Actually, everything is slow here. Peeper was the one told them about you—the O.K. Corral, Dodge City, the like. He painted you a hero, but some saw a cold villain.”

“I suppose men are entitled to their opinions.”

“But then they saw you go after Bubba. Saw how you refused your pistol until you didn’t have a choice, and how you still didn’t kill him when you could’ve. A trust was built from that. And, how you volunteered to do it yourself and sent the angry crowd to take care of the sick.” Ambrose lifted his drink in a toast. “I think the people might just be fond of you, Wyatt Earp.”

Wyatt’s mustache twitched in a smile.

They were quiet, background chatter and the sipping of drinks the only sounds between them. Ambrose apologized to Wyatt, for his time being wasted on this search. No one could’ve predicted Sheriff Clootie would go into hiding. Adding that, despite being Mentor a mere few days now, he already felt like he was failing. There were too many fires to put out, too many questions to answer. He wished the previous Mentor, Juan Carlo, wasn’t so stubborn.

“I told that stupid old man to stay put,” he sighed. “I told him to sit back and calm himself. He was in a temper, see, because his long-time friend Julian was killed. It was the last time we saw Clootie. Word got out he left the next day, when he heard you were arriving. Levi claims he saw the ring react to the killing, negatively.”

“Like it didn’t agree?” Wyatt mumbled. He downed the rest of his coffee.

“Julian was the one to unearth the ring the first time we found it. It seemed to understand him, and him it. It had healing properties, so he held on to it longer and used it to help the people of Purgatory. There was a real tuberculosis problem, in the day.”

Wyatt looked into his cup. If only Doc could’ve been healed among them.

“Robert suggested the ring is rejecting Clootie and is perhaps making him ill now. If so, I hope it can finish the job for us.”

A pause before, “You’re doing a fine job, Fish. I’m sure both would be proud of you.”

“Thank you, Wyatt. Julian had a family, you know. He left them to dedicate his full attention to the Brotherhood.”

“That is quite admirable.” But perhaps selfish as well, leaving them behind.

“The exception of Robert, of course; they’re cousins.”

“Oh, really?” Wyatt leaned back in his seat. “Is that why he rode to Purgatory in the first place?”

“Mostly, yes.”

Wyatt recalled Robert’s loneliness. His father, the owner of the pair of Colt Armies he carried, died fighting in the Civil War. He was gravely injured but lived long enough to see his son one last time. His mother and unborn brother were killed by bandits walking into town from their farm. Robert witnessed. Wyatt always guessed this is why he was so soft spoken, so loyal. So unwilling to jump into or start conflict. Looks Julian gave him a renewed confidence.

“He certainly is a changed man.”

Ambrose nodded in agreement. “I will never forget the old, wide-eyed Robert we met. Boy could barely speak without—Hey, speak of the devil!”

Robert Svane was jogging in, out of breath, new hat on his head, eyes scanning for Wyatt. Ambrose’s outburst helped.

-

A woman approached Robert moments ago. Claiming she had information on Clootie, an idea where he might’ve been hiding. They were going back to the church when someone, a cane in hand, hit Robert over the head and kidnapped her.

What a coincidence. They rushed to the church to put a plan together. Robert hadn’t seen much of the culprit. Just the cane and expensive-looking attire. They rode away on a stolen horse, found abandoned and actually running back into town. Meaning the rogue rider was on foot.

The men rode off and kept their noses to the dirt, following horse tracks, making new ones with their own. The horseshoe imprints dug deep into dirt didn’t last long as they approached the prairie, and for a while there _were_ no clues to lead on. About half an hour passed before Wyatt spotted a blood trail, far off. Figured it would lead to something.

Horses trotted, slow. Men were silent with busy eyes and thinking minds. The splatters started off small, almost small enough to miss, and grew to downright worrisome. Articles of clothing were ripped off and lost along the way.

Wyatt halted them, immediately.

Dismounted.

Approached, hand on Buntline, pair of Assassins following.

The trio froze. Robert threw up.

The woman was a schoolteacher, Purgatory’s finest. Mother of four. Generous, hospitable. Once offered Robert an apple when he was looking pale. Charm for days, and not a mark to a perfect record of selfless deeds.

And now she lay on the ground, alone, blood spread far and wide, torso opened and organs rearranged. Jack of spades playing card in her mouth.

Wyatt wanted to throw up, too. What deranged creature would do this? To any person, good or evil? He’d never seen anything like it! “Sick” wasn’t the right word for this. There perhaps _wasn’t_ a right word for this.

“It’s the Jack of Knives,” Ambrose moved to explain, quick and unnerved. Robert, in the corner, was pale. “He’s a local killer. The law’s been on him for a while now. He’s never taken someone in plain sight like that before, though.”

“Clootie’s influence is empowering, perhaps.” Wyatt couldn’t keep his eyes off the woman. Jesus, it was _disgusting._

-

No trail after that. Nothing after that. Ambrose covered the woman up and carried her back into town, for her family to deal with and say goodbyes. Robert and Wyatt spent hours combing the plain, but couldn’t find a thing. The Jack of Knives simply vanished, as well as Robert’s people were trained to. Wyatt was furious.

He wasn’t letting this go. He learned everything about this case, as quick as he could. Purgatory’s beloved schoolteacher wasn’t the only victim. Dozens of women were missing, some for almost a year now. No doubt in the same condition. No one deserved to die like that.

The Jack of Knives was a confident man. Sent letters to his next victim, with honeyed, flirtatious words borderline taunting. Borderline creepy, even for these times. Always signed with his preferred name. Wyatt checked every man’s handwriting in town, both hands. Nothing. In the past, he was a patient crook. It took him days or weeks before he struck, always with a warning. Always getting away unnoticed. But, of late, it seemed he moved to more impatient, bolder tactics: simply grabbing women out of the blue, never to be seen again. Wyatt wondered, because he was afraid of running out of time given Purgatory’s new powered Sheriff, or because Sheriff Clootie convinced him to?

The Assassins were still looking into Clootie and his wives. The town was looking to Wyatt, the one who declared himself the new law of the land. He couldn’t fail them. Some even volunteered to help look. He’d given this life up, sure, but Wyatt Earp was a decent human being. He’d be damned if he let these people continue to suffer and fear.

 

**_[END: SEQUENCE 4, MEMORY 1]_ **

**_[Note from WAVERLY EARP: Okay, so Jeremy was right, we don’t have any hard drive space left. Already. I deleted those personal videos like he said before, and we’ve already cut what we could from past memories, but they barely made a dent and Wynonna just jumped back into the Animus like the jerk she is and refuses to exit. I went over memories 2-6 and noted important events. Nothing, other than Wyatt’s inconclusive search. I left the dates and times just in case we need to revisit. But more than anything else, we need more space. Maybe get some flash drives or something? Memory 7 looks the most promising. We’ll discuss when you get back. (If Wynonna wasn’t so frickin’ stubborn, we wouldn’t have this problem!)]_ **

**_[START: SEQUENCE 4, MEMORY 7]_**

**_[MEMORY START: JULY 21, 1888]_ **

 

The search was endless. Maddening. Going on too long with too little. Spanding days, nearing a week now. Day and night people were searching, more than they’d bothered to before. Looking to Wyatt Earp as a beacon of hope to guide them. To bring them back to peaceful days before Templars and Assassins used their hometown as a battlefield. The simple days when the hardest struggle was working the field.

Wyatt was strong, for the people, but damn was he tired. And damn did he miss Doc. Man was an excellent tracker, and always seemed to know just what to do. Wyatt wondered if he’d even agree to this little journey. Before they first parted ways, Doc would’ve followed Wyatt to Hell, if he asked. Would he go on this murder mystery train, too? With his expertise, would he’ve _solved_ it by now?

Wyatt’s worries were interrupted when a woman approached him, as he made his rounds of Purgatory. By now he could draw a map of the place by memory. She offered a plan to get to Jack. A plan that was outright madness.

“No, ma’am, we are not doing that. It’s outright madness!”

She wanted to offer herself as bait. Jack takes her, Wyatt and posse follow. During nightfall, so as not to be detected. But nightfall also meant Jack could be lost from their eyes, easy, no matter how watchful. No way. Too risky.

“Please, Mister,” she begged. “My sister’s been missing for a time now, and there’s all those other girls! Even if they’re dead, their families deserve to know, and they deserve a proper farewell!”

Wyatt’s hands were on his hips, his head down. Thinking. Wow this porch was dusty. “I’ll give it some thought, Miss. I’ll be on.”

“Thank you, Wyatt Earp!”

He tipped his hat and mounted his horse.

-

Wyatt wasn’t one to inflate his own ego, but things were certainly different around here. Ever since he took down Big Bubba, he knew that. But now he was really beginning to notice how the energy shifted. Despair left and hope sauntered in like a lost dog finding home again. Just this past Sunday the church was empty but for the squatting Assassins in the basement. Now there were boots, young and old, shuffling in and out. New preacher, too, to replace Juan Carlo, who apparently doubled as the Padre pre-Clootie times. Smiles, happy faces. Greetings when Wyatt passed.

Great sight to see, but it made things harder to sneak into the basement. For Wyatt anyway, because the organization thrived on hiding in plain sight. And people didn’t recognize them, follow them with curious eyes when they went behind the church “to smoke”.

Inside he met the one soul who wasn’t kissing gratefully at his boots. Levi. Probably still hurt about the _question._ Great poker face, though; showed no discomfort when Wyatt greeted him.

“Have you seen Fish? It’s important.”

Levi didn’t look up from his hidden blade, trying to unstick the thing. “He should be riding into town soon.” He shook his wrist, contraption jiggling. “Damn.” More jiggling. Flexed his forearm, but the blade got stuck. “Stupid thing!”

“May I?” Wyatt offered, and Levi looked up at him. He handed his entire wrist over, albeit cautiously. Wyatt examined.

“The spring is stuck, I think,” Levi mumbled. Wyatt tried not to laugh at the childish pout on his face.

“I am sorry about what I said, Levi. There was no need—”

“I believe you. I mean, you’re still here, and we’re still here, and you haven’t reported us. And we have bigger things to dwell on.”

Wyatt suddenly yanked on the blade, and the whole thing retracted. Levi flexed on and off, opening and closing. Smooth, no more problems. He shot Wyatt a grateful expression. Wyatt tipped his hat.

“Still, I owe you a drink sometime, Levi.”

Levi watched him walk off, then sighed to himself.  “I love you, Fish, but why are all the good ones taken?” His shoulders dropped. “By women?”

-

Silence, as they all thought it over. Wyatt was a gambling man, but strictly cards-only. Not with lives.

On the one hand, they could catch Jack. Follow him to wherever it was he dwelled and find the missing girls. Easy. Local terror: eradicated.

On the other hand, there was an extensive list of catches: only worked if they didn’t lose him, he didn’t spot them, and if he even lived somewhere specific and all the women could be recovered and weren’t missing or buried elsewhere. Or eaten, by him. Also, if they failed he would’ve taken another victim and no way another woman would offer herself like this again.

So, win or lose, do or don’t. No right answer, all grays. Some scotch would be nice right about now.

Ambrose left the call to Wyatt, apparently trusting him more than himself. “Himself” being leader of the Assassins and this whole damn cause. Wyatt felt he was elected king now or something. He was lost, so he went full democracy and held a vote on it.

“Yes” was the outcome. Wyatt voted no. He ignored the feeling in his stomach. The many, many voices in his head telling him to find another way, because the risk was just too high.

Next thing he knew he, Robert, and Ambrose were waiting behind the post office, the first building entering town and closest to the stables. Stable hands were told to go home for the night and horses were left unattended. Ripe for stealing. Ripe for beginning the chase that’d bring this man to his knees and into a jail cell.

More Assassins were stationed around the area, hidden behind rocks in the dirt and grass in the prairies outside of town. Extra eyes, extra insurance. Hopefully everything would check out green. Ambrose brought his blowgun and sleep darts just in case.

The woman was grabbed, roughly, and the previously untouchable Jack of Knives made his escape on a horse. Wyatt silently thanked Clootie for bloating his ego. Because of it, they were about to take him down, and by Wyatt’s understanding, he’d been at large and untouchable for a long time. A terror on Purgatory’s women. A cell occupant later. Hopefully.

-

The thing about horses is they’re loud. The stomping in the ground, done by four giant hooves, multiplied by three in this case. Tailing Jack was a real effort.

They did so from afar, and threw in the extra, _extra_ insurance of tying a loose bag of grain to the rear of the stolen steed. Follow that trail if things went south, and a couple of times it was a saving grace, even with the pathetic light of a crappy old lantern. Purgatory’s nights were _dark_. Keeping out of Jack’s senses but also right on his tail was far more difficult than it sounded, and it already sounded pretty damn difficult.

He dismounted near a cave and sent his confused horse off. Poor thing was glad to return home. Ambrose hitched it with theirs, at a distance, following Wyatt’s lead. Signaling their backup to stay close by, but also at a reasonable distance. Wyatt insisted on doing this peacefully. Ambrose only agreed for the sake of the captured woman, to make sure Jack wouldn’t kill her. Jack, currently dragging the woman with him into the cave by her legs, whispering, “Careful with the face, careful with the face, careful with the face . . .”

Stopped at the cave entrance. Ambrose prepped his sleep darts. Robert clicked safeties off his pair of Colt Armies. Wyatt felt the Buntline between his fingers, the barrel taking a time to exit its holster.

Jack greeted someone. Multiple someones. But there was no answer. Not even a rustling or sounds of struggle. Nothing but his boots and the woman, dragging and dragging through his place. Small fire inside. Awful scent lingering. Ambrose pulled his ascot over his face.

Wyatt was in front, eyes locked on Jack’s welcoming, unwatched back. He didn’t see the source of the awful smell, notice Ambrose freeze, or hear Robert gag. Just didn’t register. He only raised the Buntline Special, capturing the wide expanse of the man’s pressed coat and clicked the safety off, his target wrestling with his captive to sit still. How easy it would be to shoot him now.

“Hands up, Jack.”

Then he was diving swiftly, cursing.

Jack, expertly, turned suddenly and flung a throwing knife at Wyatt’s head. Would’ve hit, too, if he paid the slightest bit less attention. In the panic Wyatt didn’t think to shoot first before dodging, somewhere cruel enough to subdue but not kill.

Wyatt floundered on the ground before forcing himself to his feet. The Jack of Knives bolted for deeper into the cave.

“We got a runner!”

Rage in Wyatt’s voice as he followed. His eyes were still locked on Jack, and for once he failed to take in his surroundings. Good thing Jack wasn’t the trap-setter type.

Robert asked Ambrose what to do. Jack was ahead of them, a healthy distance on his part, and still managed to skillfully toss knives over his shoulder. Wyatt was too busy dodging to aim. Dark cave wasn’t a help, either, the only light coming from the lantern strapped to Ambrose’s hip. The only reason Jack was getting around was because he lived here, and rightfully knew the place well.

Wyatt considered the possible ways to get that leap ahead. Smoke bombs and knock him out? Could Jack escape with another tunnel in the cave they wouldn’t notice in time? Smoke could spook him further. It had to be assumed there was a rear exit. No risks could go uncalculated. No one had seen Jack for the almost year he’d been terrorizing Purgatory. Clearly he was a master of aversion. This might’ve been the only chance. So no smoke. Nothing risky. Not even backup, because their numbers could spook him, too, and might even make chasing him harder given the many bodies in the cramped space. Wyatt cursed himself. Why didn’t he encourage the Assassins to poke around for other ways in? They could’ve cornered him! Why did he just rush in? Why didn’t he make a plan first, just stop for a few seconds? It’d be so much easier just to kill Jack and be over with it. But he promised he’d take the monster in to rot in a cell. But then maybe some promises needed to be broken.

Ambrose was trying the sleep darts, and nearly shouted in frustration when the first missed. And then the second. The third. The fourth was waiting. Waiting for the perfect opportunity, because blind luck was doing nothing for them right now. Wyatt understood the pressure he was feeling. The pressure of screwing this all up. Their once chance. Dozens of lives. Families waiting for justice.

Jack made a sharp turn left. Wyatt was close enough and squinting his eyes enough to not be fooled by the sudden change in direction. When he entered the new tunnel, he saw Jack hesitate, try to turn back, before rashly deciding to continue on. Excellent; Jack made a mistake. There was no exit here.

And truly; the group found themselves in a wide room, three men cornering one. The law and law’s two loose interpreters eyed their target, somehow still collected by first look, a feeling of victory over them. Nowhere else for him to go.

Wyatt’s epic, You-Lost-Give-Up speech didn’t even get to start before the Jack of Knives ripped the handle off his cane, revealing a concealed knife, and threw the bottom portion at Wyatt. Wyatt tossed back a messy shot from his Buntline, Robert two of his own from his pistols. Ambrose couldn’t grab his crossbow in time.

It was impossible to see, despite Ambrose tossing the lantern as far to the center as possible, but they knew Jack was still in here. The man was panting as if he were out of shape. But he was still kicking, throwing more of his apparent infinite stash in the low lighting.

Robert ducked behind a rock, Ambrose stepped behind an indent in the cave’s wall. Perfect little space for him. Wyatt bravely waited a few seconds to try to shoot Jack once more, but the sound of a knife flying just past his ear convinced him to back off and join Robert behind his large stone. Wyatt was only loosely acquainted with Jack’s skill level, but it was safe to assume, after all this time, it was pretty friggin’ high. At least Ambrose had a hope to aim.

Wyatt was two steps from having Robert get their backup. Really cursing himself now for having them hang back. There was nowhere Jack could run, right? He hesitated. Ambrose was the one with the lantern. Would sending Robert even do them any good? What if he got lost in the tunnels? He leaned from the rock and shot again, low. Nothing. Ambrose was shooting from his crossbow. Nothing. The panting stopped, but there was a boot hanging out from the corner Jack hid in. So he hadn’t left yet.

Ambrose announced, between them, he was going to try his last sleep dart. Next time he’d bring more than four. He closed his eyes, took a breath. Sent a prayer to anyone willing to listen.

The second he popped out the lantern revealed him and Jack grazed his arm with yet another knife. Timed perfectly, because Ambrose was mid-shoot and the stupid dart flew elsewhere. He tried not to make that fact too obvious and held in a curse.

Wyatt took initiative. He told Ambrose to ready his crossbow, Robert to keep an eye out.

The pair of Assassins probably imagined the million different ways Wyatt planned to do this. Try the smoke bombs and hope there was no way it would help Jack out of his corner and into an exit. Flat out jump up and hope not to lose an eye and that he’d be able to hit Jack first. Insult Jack’s mother. Dress in drag and do the hula.

One plan that probably, very likely wasn’t on the list was future legendary lawman Wyatt Berry Stapp Earp jumping from cover and asking Jack, “What would your mother think of this, son?”

It was so odd, so random, so crazy, even the serial killer who rearranged guts was puzzled and froze.

Even Robert, who’d once chased a thief in nothing more than his underwear for miles was lost. Robert knew Wyatt best. Well, second best. And Ambrose, who saw a face melted off by a magical ring wielded by some random bald guy.

Wyatt eyed them both. “For cryin’ out loud, boys!” He took the opportunity to shoot the Jack of Knives in the arm, and the man was such a coward he balled up into himself and simply prayed for death to come swift.

The next thing he saw was three guns and a crossbow on him, three men not willing to offer sympathy for his horrendous acts. So he did what any psychotic asshole would do: laugh, hysterically.

Laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh. He’d been caught! He’d been done in! Act over!

“This was so much fun,” he gasped, a sick smile to him. “I wish I could stay! Oh, I wish I could stay.”

One last knife, the handle of his cane sword, slit at his own throat, before anyone could see it glimmering in the weak firelight. A smile burned onto his face. Ambrose didn’t seem to think anything of it, but Wyatt cursed, because he’d taken the coward’s way out. Promise broken. At least he’d suffer an eternity in Hell.

Wyatt took a moment to look him over. After taking a moment to collect himself. Now noticing Jack was already injured, slash on the wrist, a cloth tied around it. Probably the earlier woman, the one from the church. Maybe she fought back forced him off the horse. Got angry enough to carve her up on the spot instead of his cave.

And now, as they reentered Jack’s quarters of the cave, he was seeing it, realizing it; how Ambrose froze when they entered. How sick Robert looked. Anne, the brave woman who offered herself up, dead. Half-carved up like what they’d seen before.

Like the dozens in this cave.

His hat left his head. All these women looked the same, and all so beautiful. All positioned to sit up against the rocky walls, smiles forced on their faces. Chests open. Insides rearranged. Jack of spades in their hands. Terror in their lifeless eyes.

He found Anne. Jack’s final victim. She was looking to her left, and her arm was outstretched in the same direction. Seemed she got her wish; she found her sister. And the evil was stopped.

But was this price worth it? She sacrificed her life, her future. Her chance to make a family, to see new places. Wyatt cursed himself. He knew he should’ve turned it down. He should’ve shot Jack the second he saw him. Should’ve let the Assassins storm this place. He had a sick feeling about this, about getting Anne involved. Why did he agree? For the sake of bringing Jack to justice? To help Purgatory, or to help himself? What was the _real_ reason he didn’t want to let them down? Because they deserved better, or because he didn’t want to look bad, again?

There was one thing he knew now, for sure: Robert was right. This wasn’t some other corrupt town he was cleaning up. It was different. Evil. Evil like he’d never seen. Quite frankly, it was named appropriately.

Purgatory.

 

_**[END: SEQUENCE 4, MEMORY 7]** _

_**[END: SEQUENCE 4]** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lack of computer memory thing will come up later, and damn will it be important. And may or may not contribute to everything going completely south. But mostly it was a huge saving grace. As much fun as it would’ve been to write six whole memories of Wyatt Earp running around Purgatory, ripping out his hair and yelling W H A T I N T A R N A T I O N to the heavens in frustration (*Deadpool voice* That's just lazy writing). Why not make it less memories instead of seven? That is also super important. Like, next chapter important. Like, so-and-so going through the Bleeding Effect and causing bad things to happen important. Huzzah
> 
> So I was triple hella wrong about the layout last chapter’s notes (does anyone even read these obnoxious ramblings?), because there will be three whole modern day chapters after this, not two. Second one may or may not be Nicole’s backstory, and third may or may not involve alcohol and a certain ginger getting very drunk. I don’t know, I don’t write this. The aliens in control of this simulation do. I'll likely write them all together so maybe I'll post ‘em all at once? Or maybe it'd be better to post them a few days apart? Dunno. Time will tell. Literally depends on my patience with editing. (In which I have zero attention span and might definitely be posting them separately)
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for reading and even bothering with this bizarre concept and my bizarre everything. Really means a lot, y'all are freakin' superstars. And shout out to Rockstar Games for ruining all productivity in my life when Red Dead 2 comes out in three days yeehaaaaaawwww


	8. A Bleeding Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! Been far too long, dearest reader. I thank you for being so darn patient with the long wait. The next two chapters are written and should be posted, I’m thinkin’ once a week following this one? Anyway, hopefully the wait was worth it!

_October 5, 2016_

Nicole grunted with each, tiresome step, hand clutching her side, face pretending she wasn’t in the worst pain she’d felt in some time. Including that one time Rosita knocked her out in one punch.

She made her way to her “bed” in the mine, shoving painkillers down her throat, and flopped right down. Swatted Calamity Jane away when she came to say hello. Cat got her revenge by smacking Nicole in the face with her bushy tail. Rosita’s sights trailed her, as Jeremy made his way to Waverly and the Animus.

The whole thing was Nicole’s idea. Another dig site, but Wynonna was still in the Animus, searching as Wyatt on the slow-moving Jack of Knives case. Where Rosita was conflicted on splitting ther focus, Nicole was set. Opposite of last time a site surfaced. It was like Rosita said: if the find was real, they couldn’t risk losing a ring. So she grabbed Jeremy and went to handle it. Rosita overseeing as usual and Waverly running the Animus.

Xavier Dolls was present, none too happy about letting the Assassins slip through his capable hands once again, making him look like some rookie fool. More cameras, more drones, more patrols. Plans to actually move whatever they found first, immediately, instead of waiting to verify it. Last time went well enough to boost Nicole’s ego. She felt cocky, maybe a little hopeful in their dismal odds. Jeremy was disabling every eye on her, Rosita was watching her back. Sundown, no lights, easy to hide. No nerves. Piece of cake.

What a stupid thing to believe.

The place was a maze of temporary work tents, crates, and equipment. There was a corner Nicole asked Rosita to watch as she made her way past countless patrols like in one of Jeremy’s games. No mishaps, only a couple close calls.

Then Rosita moved her attention for a split second.

Like a storm cloud, Dolls rolled in from nowhere and unleashed hell. _Just_ as Nicole was making an escape with yet another fake ring. It’d be nice to know who was responsible for them. Definitely a matter BBD was looking into now, because one of Dolls’s rain of bullets grazed Nicole’s side, and the sting of it took over long enough to make her drop the thing. No time to turn around and retrieve it without getting killed or captured. So now they knew the big secret. Probably believed the first was fake, too.

Easily, Rosita blamed herself. She promised she had Nicole’s back! She expected a full rant the second Nicole walked in, but there was nothing. Not on the car ride back, either. Thank goodness for painkillers.

Truthfully, Nicole didn’t want to pass the blame around. Sure, Rosita made a promise, but she was the one in the field. Should’ve had her eyes open. She was also beginning to rethink the “fun” rivalry with Dolls, the thrill of a challenge igniting the flames of an exciting back-and-forth. Not so fun when he actually managed a win.

Meanwhile, as always, there was another problem. Waverly noticed a strange spike in Wynonna’s vitals, as the Jack investigation came to a close, and as Wyatt rode back to his hotel in the aftermath, quiet. Those bodies were not an easy sight. Reliving it couldn’t have been easy. Waverly guessed her subconscious was simply disturbed by the find. The knowledge that Jack’s descendant would join six other thugs, attack the Earp homestead, and take Willa probably wasn’t helpful, either.

The way Wynonna woke only proved things were for the worst. She was wide-eyed and quiet, looked panicked, confused, a bit lost after completing several memories back-to-back. And seeing what she saw.

Rosita explained to her the odd vitals and instructed more rest than usual, maybe no training as well. Just mess hall, dinner, bed. How she woke up tomorrow would determine the rest of her potentially extended break. Wynonna seemed absent the whole explanation, like she was somewhere else entirely. Waverly grew worried. She recalled the “Bleeding Effect”. Her sister’s best feature was her crazy, but amplified and unhinged? No thanks.

Usual post-game dinner and show was postponed. Jeremy forgot the med kit in the van. Rosita decided to go with him in case of unruly creatures of the night. Or the threat of BBD finding them, realized. Short spat out of friendly care followed, Nicole not wanting Rosita to walk so far for so long so late. Rosita reminded Nicole _she_ was injured and scurried before Nicole could stubbornly retort she was fine. She still said it, of course, but no one heard. Only reason she didn’t join up despite it was because the Earps needed a watchful eye. No way she was just leaving them here. Not with Waverly’s VR shooting scores. Improving, but still not quite.

She returned to the mess hall to find the sisters arguing, nothing sisterly about it. Not much of an argument, either, just Wynonna and some uncharacteristic aggressive words. To Waverly. Because she brought her water.

Nicole was observant. Tonight’s fiasco aside. She heard talk of the Jack of Knives when she returned to camp. Waverly mentioning disturbing images, Jeremy’s gagging when he decided to look at the screen even with the head’s up. The possibility of the Bleeding Effect or something mind-altering setting in on Wynonna. She saw only one solution: sparring session to get the aggression out. Having her use the punching bag didn’t seem to be doing anything, so Nicole figured maybe she needed a face to swing fists at. Nicole was injured, so Waverly volunteered. But Wynonna had some sort of pent-up anger, so Nicole declined for her safety. Ignored protests and pulled Wynonna over to the mat, an expression to her so mad she looked ready to start frothing at the mouth. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Easygoing for a while. Waverly watching, worried for both combatants, all but chewing her nails to stubs. Nicole played defense, let Wynonna kick and punch to her heart’s content. Everything was sloppy, with no remnants of the form Nicole spent hours teaching her days ago. Not important right now, anyway.

Then things took a bad turn. Apparently not getting to hit Nicole was making Wynonna madder. Waverly was literally biting her nails at this point, and Nicole wondered if she should end the session. Undecided, until Wynonna suddenly grabbed her, yelling all sorts of nonsensical curses, and hit Nicole multiple times, dead-on the bullet graze.

Waverly left her seat. “Wynonna!”

No stopping. Not when Nicole asked, not when Waverly asked. Just as Waverly was about to run over to the rescue, Nicole got a grip on Wynonna and shoved her, hard. Grasping at her side with a furious look to her.

“Jesus,” she spat, frustrated, in greater pain now, “didn’t you hear me asking you to stop?” Nicole hissed in pain.

“Nobody stops in real life, Haught!” Wynonna shot back. “Why don’t you grow up a little bit?”

Nicole took a step for her, unintentionally menacing. “Excuse me?” She knew better than to lose her cool here, but _come on._

“Come on, round two. Don’t fucking pussy out and cry this time!”

Waverly was grabbing her and yanking her off before anyone else could react. She smacked Wynonna’s arm when she tried pushing away. Probably to continue the fight Nicole was regretting starting. Nothing seemed to be going right today. But then what else was new?

“You’re gonna sleep it off, Wynonna!” Waverly declared, and Nicole was impressed with the way she listened, even with the blind rage. Ready to take on a professionally trained assassin, but backing off against Waverly Earp. Seemed the smart option.

-

Nicole brought snacks back into the mine. Forget letting Rosita leave—why’d she let _Jeremy_ leave? It was late. Come to think of it, maybe Wynonna was just hangry. The only reason Waverly didn’t take over dinner was because last time she tried, Jeremy declared himself king of the kitchen and her a trespasser and was actually _upset_ about the whole ordeal. There were so few things they could control in their lives right now, she figured she might as well let him have this one thing. Besides, he was a great cook and it was nice having someone else take care of little housekeeping things like cooking, for a change.

Nicole sat next to Waverly (always a pleasant thing) as Waverly brushed off some work. Reserved for tomorrow, but she was babysitting her sister in the mine, so why not work? She put in headphones both to keep Wynonna from hearing anything from Jack and Nicole from hearing the gunfire she was so opposed to. She really didn’t want Nicole to sit anywhere else. For reasons she was much too tired to examine just now.

About half an hour passed. By now Rosita and Jeremy should’ve been close, provided they didn’t get lost. The coal markings helped, but keeping track without a specific GPS map was difficult. Easy to trace, so nothing of the sort was allowed. Just in case. Waverly paused her _exciting_ note-taking mid-memory, just as Wyatt spent hours combing the prairies. Inspecting roads, suspicious horseshoes off-road, grass, rocks, the underside of his boot, everything.

When she reentered reality she wasn’t expecting to find her sister arguing with the air, but fast asleep. Maybe snoring her head off by now. At first she thought it was aimed at Nicole, but Nicole wasn’t phased. Just focused on a chess board Waverly was sure she made herself. Impressive, too; the pieces were carved to perfection.

“Well Jesus, Wyatt,” Wynonna was ongoing, and Waverly watched curiously, “a woman died! She died! No, no—I don’t care! People aren’t collateral damage! They’re people!”

Waverly nudged Nicole as Wynonna went off about coffee next. “How long has she been like this?” And why, with her half-broken headphones, didn’t she hear it? “Is she okay? Should we—”

“She’s fine. She’s been fine. I’ve been keeping an eye out.”

Would’ve been more reassuring if Nicole’s eyes actually left the board. She apparently surprised herself after moving a knight to victory. Clearly not the plan for the traditionally lighter pieces, marked here with a deep scratch from her hidden blade instead.

“Are you sure?” Waverly’s fingers were moving nervously against one another, hands balled together. “She said ‘Wyatt’. Is this the Bleeding Effect?”

“Probably.” Still not especially worried. Or maybe acting cool to keep Waverly calm and secretly freaking out inside. “We’ll see what Rosita has to say. Just let her tire herself out.”

Nicole reset the chess pieces for a new game before glancing to Waverly. Fingers anxiously trying to claw each other off, mind racing, eyes worryful and troubled. She stopped to comfort her, eyeing Waverly with all the care she could manage. Certainly helped; Waverly couldn’t deny Nicole always had a grounding energy to her, despite how together her life currently was not. But then, who’s was?

“It’s gonna be okay,” Nicole tried again, and Waverly’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “We caught this early. A little rest and she’ll be alright.”

“Are you sure?”

Waverly finally looked at Nicole and Nicole wanted to melt. Wow, those eyes were beautiful. Fitting, given the person behind them.

“We won’t let anything happen to her. She hasn’t been in the Animus long enough for long-term damage. If anything, she’s just tired.”

Waverly nodded, but her brow was still crinkled in worry. She found Wynonna again, arguing about horses and apples. She almost asked Nicole to put her down with a sleep dart. This was not a great sight to see.

Nicole expressed a worry of her own, but more for Waverly than anything else. “Hey, why don’t you hit the showers? You’ve been working all day. You deserve to relax.”

No relaxing while Wynonna was in a state of frenzy. Of course she wanted to go and wash off the day’s stresses and anxieties of the future, but her one and only sister wasn’t well. She was on track to repeating Willa’s history.

She took a moment to consider, and Nicole respectfully returned to her game. Calamity Jane stared at Wynonna, confused. What a strange, loud human.

Waverly stood up, grabbed her things, and headed out. Ignoring the way her gut was telling her to stay. Not that she didn’t trust Nicole. She didn’t trust this thing altering her sister’s perfect brain. But seeing Jack’s work was disturbing and she was certainly affected by it, too. She just needed one minute, alone. One minute not thinking of someone’s past or someone’s future. One minute of quiet. One minute to figure out these confusing feelings she had for Nicole. Why was she mentally begging her to sit next to her forever? She barely knew her. They only spoke a few times, the times Nicole wasn’t off alone. _You’re really, really smart, Waverly._ Waverly could’ve given a one or two sentence summary when Nicole asked about the O.K. Corral shootout. Nicole could’ve stopped her long rambling. But no, she was different, different from everyone before. She listened. Told Waverly she was important and her work was important when she felt totally useless for no other reason than being completely honest. _Complimented_ her. They’d been here almost a month, but that was more than anyone ever gave her, her whole life. Waverly found herself smiling. Whoever raised Nicole ought to be praised.

-

Some time passed, enough for a whole game of chess. Nicole feeling proud of herself, because turns out she was really good at chess. Despite what some people with long winning streaks named Rosita might’ve thought.

She stopped midway through the next game, observing Wynonna, who at this point was on her feet and pacing around the mine. Currently arguing with “Wyatt” again, a fluent conversation Nicole could follow instead of the random, incoherent subject jumping she was doing before. She didn’t know what happened in the last few memories, but she was piecing it together from context as Wynonna’s conversation heated and heated.

“You knew it was stupid, Wyatt,” Wynonna was saying, angry eyes narrowed and pointing finger accusing. “Risky, whatever!”

A pause, and Wynonna listened carefully. Her arms were crossed and she looked a country away from the lowest tier of amused.

“Nobody pressured you to do anything! They worship you at your feet! If you said no, they would’ve backed off! No, don’t you—No. You know—You wanted another way. I know what you’re thinking, asshole! I’m there, too! I’m in your dumb cowboy head!” A look of sorrow and sympathy fell over her. “Why’d you let her die?”

A long pause. Whatever Wyatt was saying was clearly making her nothing but angrier. Nicole kept a closer eye, forgetting her game entirely.

Then she was springing to her feet.

Peacemaker left the safety of its holster, and Wynonna was lecturing the Wyatt in her mind, saying guns didn’t solve everything. Her father was a terrible man, but a gun wasn’t the solution to that. Ruined more than it solved. Safety was still on, but in Wynonna’s current unpredictable state, that could change at any moment. Rather not have someone walk in and get hit with a ricocheting bullet. Like on that post-apocalypse show Waverly and Jeremy were binging (and spent several hours yelling at the screen about).

“Alright, Earp,” Nicole sighed, “let’s g—”

Wynonna looked ravenous, wild, the way she suddenly turned. Nicole tensed up. “Not you, not again! I’m not going back in there!”

Gun raised. Nicole’s hands flew up in surrender, immediately, her thoughts on stopping this racing and racing without a real solution. Negotiation was the only thing cropping up.

“Whoa, Wynonna, easy!”

Wynonna didn’t flinch. “No, no, not again. No, fuck you, Lucado!”

Nicole swallowed. “No, Wynonna, it’s Ni—”

She ducked just in time to dodge a literal bullet, heart ready to fall from her chest. She was close enough to attempt to disarm Wynonna, but ended up getting hit with the gun right over that stupid graze. Damn you, Dolls.

Then things took a bad turn. A _worse_ turn.

They broke out in a small fight as Wynonna began to force Nicole in the direction of the Animus. Nicole struggled, Wynonna’s fist and rage and that awful graze combining and forcing her down. All she could do was take it and consider resistances that didn’t work. Wynonna, unrecognizable, crazed and lost, shoving her into the Animus and hooking her in. Holding her down. The world going black and limbs going slack, feeling a rush of memories she couldn’t possibly recall after so long.

Wynonna stared at the screen, taking it all in. Muttering lines of revenge, of payback. “How does it feel?” and the like.

Nicole’s subconscious didn’t agree. She unintentionally guided it back on her own life. Three years old, watching Templars storm in with their numbers and weapons and murder her parents as she sobbed and they _begged_ , somehow defending themselves against better odds but bleeding out right in front of her when the last attacker fell. The first day the Assassins trained her. The first time she tried to run away, only to be caught and have the Mentor’s punishment of chores and hard workouts, the feeling of her lungs wanting to burst. The first person she ever killed, and how they begged for mercy the same way she somehow remembered her parents did. The day she met Shae Pressman, and how they dreamed of a boring life with a boring nine-to-five job with a boring house and a boring family. The many times they tried to sneak out. The time they finally had a plan with a chance of success to escape. How south it went. How Shae died, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. Templar Grand Master Moody, right there, so easy to kill, yet so difficult. Sending Rosita away to safety, the last person in her life she held remotely close. Running through a forest, pushing away branch after branch, head pounding in hate and fury. Grabbing _him_ and plunging the knife in. Staring into his pathetic, small eyes, holding his weak, pathetic, small frame. The cowardice clear in his eyes as she took the life from them. “Look at me when I kill you, Mentor . . .”

Nicole was hit with reality next, so fast she fell nauseous and dizzy. Two forms wrestled with each other, the smaller begging the taller to stop. The taller mumbling, “Not again, not again, not again” in a voice so far from normal. She blinked, once, twice, over and over. She rubbed at her eyes to get them to refocus. The unclear figures revealed themselves. Waverly, holding off her out-of-her-mind sister. Her sister, who was reaching for a prized revolver sitting on a table just out of reach.

Nicole surged upward and tackled Wynonna to the ground, ignoring the piercing sting of her side and the burn of her head. Wynonna hit her jaw, so she returned it, twice, with a similar rage she wasn’t quite aware she was feeling. Waverly gasped, loud, and tried to pull them apart. She pried roughly at Wynonna until her stone-strong sister pushed her, hard, threatening, violent,  just as Nicole elected to collect herself maturely and quit. She decided instead to punch Wynonna again and wrestle her back. Head butt from her opponent broke them up, and Waverly tried to stop them again to no success. Wynonna flipped on top of Nicole, and Nicole flipped on top of Wynonna, and they rolled around, cursing, kicking, punching. Waverly stared, feeling useless. She just froze, afraid for both their sakes, mind not really sure what to do as her sister and her treasured ally tore into each other. She thought herself pathetic.

“HEY!”

Waverly jumped out of her skin. Nicole and Wynonna froze at the sound of a new voice, eyeing the source of the sound in the entryway. Wynonna was on top of Nicole, fist raised for another hit to pile on her unbroken streak. Waverly was behind them, on her back after trying to pry Wynonna off once more failed spectacularly. At least Rosita’s entrance helped cease her staring and feelings of uselessness.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Rosita was demanding, dual pistols in her grip because she feared the sound of struggle was anything but the sight she was seeing. Wynonna sobered at the realization there were two loaded guns in a professional assassin’s professionally-trained hands, aiming or not. She repeated, “What is going on here?”

No answer. No one knew _how_ to answer, exactly. They just froze, quiet, until Nicole finally broke through her own aching to shove Wynonna off of her and make to leave. Making sure to slow briefly by Rosita.

“Bleeding Effect. Bad.”

Then she was off without another word.

Waverly was still floored, still frozen, when Rosita and Jeremy entered the room fully. Wynonna next to her, looking more confused than ever as she tried to configure reality from wherever it was she’d gone.

“No Animus until I say so,” Rosita ordered, raising a palm before protests could surface (though she doubted anyone would). “Black Badge has no other active dig sites right now, and given their find of the false rings I doubt they’ll open any more. We can afford the break.”

She moved to chase after Nicole, but found her person of interest storming back in. Grabbed a coat, made no eye contact, and prepared to leave again. So Rosita stopped her in the middle of the hallway. Knowing she was going somewhere particular. Knowing she was running away.

“Where are you going?” she asked, as Nicole threw the coat on. “It’s late.”

“Away.”

Rosita grabbed Nicole as she resumed pace. “You can’t just leave because you’re upset.” Respectfully trying to keep her voice down in the echoing space.

Nicole scoffed, a bit louder, “I can do whatever I want.”

Off again, and Rosita sighed. “I order you to stay, Nicole!”

Nicole stopped at that. She was still for a threatening moment, staring at the ground before shaking her head and returning to finish their little argument with renewed vigor.

“I am _done_ with your orders, and I am _done_ with this game. I came here as a favor to you, Rosita. Because you’re my friend and the last person on the planet I care about. I put myself in danger, constantly, and I deal with your terrible planning and terrible leadership. I trusted you today, and I got shot! I mean, Jesus, I could’ve left with Shae for good, like I spent years praying and hoping for, but I went back for your precious cause.” Fist clenched, jaw tight. “And now she’s _dead_!”

Nicole echoed throughout the space, and even Wynonna, in her dazed, between-dimensions state, jumped when she raised her voice.

“I came back to help you—I put everything I dreamed of my whole life on the line—and you thank me with poor planning and pulling rank when you don’t get your way, and completely ignoring the way I prefer to handle things. And somehow I’m always the bad guy!” She scoffed again and laughed in disbelief. “For fuck’s sake, I can’t believe I agreed to this fantasy shit! It’s gonna get us all killed!”

She stared at Rosita in the following silence and waited for a response. Fuel to keep the fire burning. Nothing. Just offended staring from a close friend. If Nicole wasn’t so mad, so freshly reminded of every crappy thing in her life, her injury stomping and shouting alongside new bruises, she might’ve felt bad. She might’ve stopped herself from leaving when no one else did.

-

Waverly couldn’t help but stare at the images on the screen. The broken fragments of Nicole’s life, just enough space on the hard drive to keep it, thanks to the earlier memories that were erased or cut down. She’d pressed “play” by accident, and Jeremy walked over to inspect the commotion for himself. Wynonna was finally asleep somewhere and Rosita began the guard shift. They ate a silent dinner, thought it best not to watch a movie, and headed back to the mine. Still no Nicole.

“Wow,” Jeremy said. “I heard some of the things that happened, but that’s—”

“Gruesome.”

Of course Nicole kept at a distance. Sat alone. Used games and movies and woodworking and whatever would work as a distraction. Sang a song she might’ve hated. She was grieving, and didn’t want to feel that pain again. Of course she hated the Assassins—they got the love of her life killed. She didn’t want to get attached because she didn’t want to get hurt. Hence trying to leave the cause, the starting a “real life” interest but coming back for Rosita despite it.

Waverly in particular was stuck on Nicole killing the previous Mentor. _Killing._ The Assassin with the non-lethal methods Waverly totally and completely agreed with, personally. She deleted the files, no arguments from Jeremy, and stood a minute to process. She looked to her sister. So angry and so violent not even one hour ago, and so quiet at dinner. Almost peaceful now, as she slept. Did that really happen? Did she really try to kill Nicole? Did Waverly really just sit there, unsure what to do? What if something _did_ happen? Would she’ve just watched?

She was restless all night. She thought of Nicole.

-

_October 6, 2016_

Wynonna felt as if she were in a trance, like she’d been drugged. She just didn’t feel real. She felt an intruder in her own body, overlooking her own life from somewhere else, the same sensation when she first “became” Wyatt and didn’t sync all the way, fully aware she was having an experience that wasn’t hers and not knowing what to do or feel. Almost like an out of body experience. Her fingers felt fake when she wiggled them. Eyes heavy when she blinked them. Feet numb when they dragged along. Head, clouded and confused, swirling as she moved as a ghost haunting the mine. Everything was a dream, and she longed to wake.

Only it wasn’t. Everything that happened last night was real. She tried to kill Nicole. Yelled at Waverly for no reason. Saw “Wyatt” and had long arguments with him over every possible subject she could bring up, feeling an unquenchable rage.

Drove Nicole away.

Things were quiet. Things were strange. Anxious. They could see her on the large cliff, alone and to herself. No one reached out to her, per Rosita’s instructions, who promised everything would turn up if she got some space. Would they, though?

Jeremy offered his company to Wynonna as Waverly worked, presenting a remaster of the 2013 game _The Last of Us._ Fungal zombies and a long road trip? Hard pass. Not her thing. She opted to sit around the warm-ish mess hall (moving everything to work here instead of the mine was always worth it) and wait on Waverly, who tried her best to finish her current memory swiftly. Calamity Jane sensed how bummed out Wynonna was and offered a truce. Turns out snuggles with a cat did wonders on shitty moods. Should’ve gotten a kitty in her teens.

The second Waverly finished up, they got themselves lost in the trees. Not literally, but spiritually. Walks in peaceful nature were great relievers, too. Especially with Waverly, Wynonna’s favorite person on the planet. Favorite because, despite every stupid thing she’d done throughout the years, her little sister loved her the same. Had her back. And right now, more than ever, in all this weirdness and confusion and looming death, she needed that.

She asked of yesterday. Some of the details were foggy. Some, like trying to kill Nicole, were etched in. Waverly explained what she knew and what she saw. In short: bad things.

“You’re okay now though, right?” Waverly asked. Wynonna shrugged.

“I think I’ll pass for decent.”

Waverly was slowing their pace as she made eye contact to speak. She was respectful like that, and Wynonna always loved that about her. She had a lifetime of people who thought themselves highly looking down on her, so it was nice to be looked at, like a human person.  “So, wait, you were _seeing_ Wyatt? What was he doing?”

Wynonna stuck her hands in her pockets, soaking in the warmth against the cold. “I just dreamt up some arguments.”

“What about?”

“How ugly his hat is.” Waverly tossed a glare, so Wynonna surrendered, “Jack. He knew sending that Anne chick as bait was wrong, but he did it anyway. Those guys _love_ him. If he said no, they would’ve listened. Not to mention the million different ways he could’ve handled what happened in that cave. Stupid Wyatt.”

She stopped and plopped down where early, melting snow seeped into muddy grass, her back against a fat tree. Waverly stood next to her, until Wynonna motioned her down. Waverly took the opportunity on the ground to throw her arms around her sister, comfort her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, kissing Wynonna’s temple. “That cave was a lot.”

Wynonna preferred to change the subject, and for once Waverly let her. “I’m sorry I yelled at you yesterday. Stupid me.”

“That’s okay.” A small laugh. “It kind of reminded me of Willa. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“There were few good things about Willa,” Wynonna mumbled, and leaned closer to her living sister. “But the way Daddy picked on her, I don’t blame her.”

Waverly nodded in consideration. Never thought about Willa’s temper like that before. Just that she had a temper, and she was a jerk.

“Her birthday’s coming up.”

Waverly recalled, “October 7.”

“That’s the one,” Wynonna nodded. There was a heavy pause in the air before she asked, “What do you think she would’ve done this year?”

A dangerous guessing game she played this time a year. Sometimes it helped, sometimes it made her feel worse about _that_ day.

Waverly gave it some thought. “She’d probably go to the big city. Big fancy bar.”

“Some doof would ask her to dance and she’d punch him out.”

Waverly laughed. That’s exactly what Willa did at a middle school dance. Only time Ward ever took her side. _Maybe your boy should mind his own business next time!_

A silence fell over them. Wynonna tried to believe singing birds were beautiful (weren’t they supposed to go south now?) and Waverly sat against her with arms tight, refusing to let go. If Wynonna wasn’t in such a crummy mood, she would’ve sent her off. But today? Today it was okay. Kinda nice.

“What’re we gonna do about Nicole?”

Waverly lifted her head from Wynonna’s shoulder at the question. Said nothing, just looked her over with concern.

“I screwed up, Waves. Bad. I have to do something.”

“Wynonna, that’s not your—”

“Yes it is.” She sat up, and Waverly shifted back to give room. “You know it is, too, you’re not stupid. And, shit, did you see what the Animus picked up? I remember it. What the hell was half that stuff? Like that last one? Miss Pacifist, Kill-No-One-Ever killed her Mentor? That’s got to be a big Assassin no-no, right?”

Waverly shrugged, stuck between a rock and a hard place. “I want to talk to her too, but Rosita said to give her some space. Rosita _does_ know her best, right?”

“I guess.” Wynonna sighed and shook her head. “Still, what I did was messed up. And all this superhero-ing’s making me feel kind of mushy, so I feel extra bad.”

Waverly rolled her eyes at that. “Nicole’s tough. Right? She’ll be okay.” She eyed her sister. “Right?”

Initially Wynonna shrugged unsurely, but the look on Waverly’s face convinced her to go for a redo. “Yeah, yeah. She’ll be okay. I mean, what’s she gonna do, leave?”

-

Nicole left.

That was the fear, anyhow. Hours passed. Nicole was nowhere to be found. Not on the cliff, not around camp. Rosita left for hours to search the forest, alone, and returned with good news. Or bad news, depending on who was asked. Nicole was holed up in the van, still parked in the usual spot. No intention to leave, but no intention to come back to camp. Again, Rosita ordered everyone to let Nicole be.

Wynonna was still banned from the Animus, and she, for once, had no arguments. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready to return. Rosita did, generously, clear her for VR shooting. After she explicitly begged repeatedly out of pure boredom. She was picking up skills now, gunslinging being in her genes and all. Good thing, because she saw “Wyatt” again as she went and his presence alone was making things difficult. She tried to ignore him and his absurd mustache. He really ruined the first round and Waverly, on break, encouraged Wynonna to go again. So she went again, because her adorable little sister was the world’s best cheerleader.

But Wyatt or this dream Wyatt or whatever he was supposed to be was persistent. Started giving out advice. Advice that offended Wynonna, because she made room for only one bossy teacher and said teacher was having a mental breakdown somewhere. Like sixth grade all over again.

“Plant your back foot.”

Wynonna ignored him. She wanted to stick it in the air just to spite him.

“You’ll never hit your mark if you don’t have a strong foundation.”

Wynonna glared at him, right through the visor. Technically she was “seeing” him in the simulation, then. Didn’t matter. Point was she was seeing her historically large ancestor and having a talk with him. This was worse than any and all of Jeremy’s movies.

“Come on, girl, plant your foot!”

“I’m about to plant my foot in your face!”

Course shut down and a blaring, blank white screen overcame Wynonna’s vision. “Everything alright?” Waverly worried. Wynonna waved her off.

“All good! I can handle this mustache.”

“What was that?”

“All good!”

“Okay, but I’m warning you: if you go bonkers again I _will_ dump this water bottle on you!”

Wynonna shot Wyatt another death glare, as he smiled like he was welcome to have a good time here. “I won’t stop you!”

Course restarted, and Wynonna took a long breath to focus up. She shot the two VR goons running right for her dead, and their backup running in from the side. Another, when they poked their head from cover. Each fell over with red pixels masquerading as blood to signify. She tried for one in the distance but missed, and on top of that got shot. Jerk.

“I am telling you,” her ghost said again, “plant that back foot. This ain’t a ballet!”

She paid him no attention. “Mind your own business, _Berry_. A thirty second shootout doesn’t make you a pro.”

“Apparently it does. On your left.”

She was shot in the shoulder before she could react, and again in the chest afterward. Course ended. Died. But no flashy GAME OVER to show it, just that same blaring whiteness. How dull. Stupid boring Assassins. On the bright side, at least they didn’t bother to simulate the awful sensation of being shot.

“Don’t distract me, asshole.” She pointed to Ghost Wyatt with the gun before stepping somewhere else. Like the action would somehow lose him in the extraordinary labrinth that was the shoe box-sized mess hall.

“You will not go far if you do not have the right form.”

She lowered the gun, though the course was restarting now. Her hushed volume was a hissing, “If I do it, will you leave me alone?”

His mustache twitched upward. “I just might.”

Wynonna rolled her eyes as enemy bullets came flying in. She tucked behind a long wall for cover after running into some building (how she hadn’t collapsed over a real life table or smacked into a wall was a mystery), waiting for baddies to roll in. One entered the opposite side from her, so she stepped out and fired. Back foot planted, strong, stance solid enough to hold the rough, artificial kick of the handgun. Target fell, easy, bullet right through the head. Usual place was upper torso, legs on a bad round.

“Huh.” She scratched her head, impressed. She didn’t dare look at Wyatt, just _knowing_ he’d have some sort of douchey, smug grin on his face.

“See?” he said, sounding pleased with himself. “A strong founda—”

“Zip it, _hombre._ Don’t you have outlaws to chase, or whatever?”

He shook his head. “Where I’m from, now’s about supper time.”

“Oh, well that’s great. Where _I’m_ from, it’s shut up and go away time. Bye!”

“Come, now, is that any way to talk to your kin? Let alone your elder?”

Wynonna ducked a sniper’s shot just as it almost hit her. Shot two more invaders as they rushed in though the back entrance. Nice try, on their part, trying to sneak in. She crouch-walked to the window and shot twice. Misses. Sniper shot again. Total miss. Embarrassing type of miss. That was an Easy Mode type of thing. This was Big Boy Mode now, so she counted her lucky stars.

“Oh buddy,” she answered as she waited for more units to pile in, “this family’s totally lost on familial respect. Especially to ‘elders’. Nice try, though.”

She shot one of three men, and the other two split up to cover in response. Just them and the sniper now.

“But, she added, “we’re above intruding on people’s thoughts. Feel free to skip out any time.” An annoyed smile to follow.

“You need me here,” he argued, as she moved across to the building’s stair access. Lead them to the second floor and shoot them, was the plan. “We all need advice from time to time.”

“Nope, not from you. You get innocent girls killed.”

“There will be a time, Wynonna, when you must make tough choices. You will not make the right one, because there is no right one. Just the lesser of two evils. Evils you define, not the law, not anybody else. And when you get there—” she shot both men from a hidden corner as they entered, believing to have each other covered— “you will understand what I did was best.”

“You let an innocent girl die to save your own ass. I will never understand that.”

“I have thought this over, for years. She was innocent, yes, but she was the only way. One life for dozens. That is the best trade-off I could’ve gotten. In this line of work, you’ll see it, too, and I do pray you’ll be smarter and more moral than I.”

Wynonna forgot her hide-and-seek with the sniper long enough to look for Wyatt, who completely disappeared. Planned to tell him off, because, while she definitely wasn’t holding better morals than anyone on the planet, of course she’d be smarter than him, but he was gone. The stupid sniper took the chance to kill her with a perfect headshot.

-

Wynonna would be lying if she said Wyatt’s five-star “pep talk” didn’t totally freak her out. With the way things were going, yeah, she sure would have to make some big, difficult decision. Then she stopped herself. He was a figment of her imagination. This was her damaged subconscious being paranoid.

So why’d she listen to it, and seek out Nicole?

Night fell. She distracted Rosita with sound, a trick she stole from Jeremy’s zombie game, and made to sneak out. Stopped in the mess hall first for the priority of grabbing some alcohol, only to find a couple beers missing, then she made a perfect getaway. Luckily they couldn’t afford spotlights or sirens.

The absence of Nicole, their guardian and best chance of not dying horribly, was terrifying. So amends needed to be made. Now, preferably, without further delay, before Ghost Wyatt brought on some prophecy. Maybe add demon outlaws to the equation or something.

She was smart enough to steal a flashlight, so getting lost in nature’s annoying maze was exactly one percent less scary. Was this really the last place they could’ve hid? She’d rather her old high school over this, and that place was a dump. Hence her absence of a diploma. Right next to Champ Held-Back-Four-Times Hardy and Stephanie “I’ll Marry Rich” Jones. But she was the Chosen One working with a secret organization no one could really prove existed, so she was doing better than any of her old bullies anyhow. Given they’d believe any of that.

By some miracle she happened across Nicole’s survivalist-stocked van, and took the time to rehearse an apology script before knocking. Flat out yelling demands when Nicole didn’t answer after several minutes. Petty jerk. Then, finally, Wynonna resorted to beating the back doors with her free hand. Nice change; last time she hit a car was with a baseball bat. Getting back at her parole officer for being an extra large shithead.

“Open up, Haught! I know you’re in there! Don’t make me break the windows!”

More banging and banging and banging, until Nicole, clearly unamused, forced the door open with a scowl that actually unnerved Wynonna. Professional assassin, and all. So, naturally, she put on a fake smile and waved.

“Go away.”

Doors shut again. Wynonna hit them in frustration.

“Hey,” she yelled, “you don’t get to be mad at me!” She paused, considered. “Well, okay, yeah you do. But—just—open the door, Nicole!”

Nicole was considerate enough to do so, but only to snatch the whiskey bottle peace offering from Wynonna’s hand and shut her out again. Wynonna cursed and kicked the low bumper.

Wynonna sighed, trying to keep cool here, “Look, we need you at camp, alright? Come back. You can’t just stay out here.”

A muffled and annoyed, “I can stay wherever I want!”

Very funny; “everything is permitted”. Wynonna sighed again, the frustration her fears were impatiently building up seeping out. Not in the mood for childish nonsenses, not with the giant targets they all had on their backs. Not with the giant target on _Waverly’s_ back. She hit the door again.

“What, you get hurt and you’re out? It’s not like any of us want to be here, either! At least you got a choice in what you signed up for!”

“Go away, Wynonna!”

“No! I’m not going anywhere. Look, I’m sorry for what I did. Really, really, really sorry!” (Difficult not to throw that pun in.) “Honestly, I’d kind of like to talk about it.”

Silence.

“I get that you’re mad, but you can’t stay here. We need you to help us!”

Silence. Wynonna was nearing flat-out anger again. Tired of being ignored for more “important” things while already in the midst of crisis—got plenty of that growing up.

“Nicole, come on!” She tried to recall what she saw in the Animus from Nicole’s memories. “You can’t run away from—from whatever you’re running away from!”

More silence. More rising frustration.

“I mean, I totally get the shitty childhood thing, and being mad at the world and feeling like shit, but—But you can’t just—You’re not—There are people trying to kill us and innocent people could get hurt and we need you, and—” Wynonna groaned a long exhale, because this kind of thing was not her specialty and she wasn’t sure what to say to fix everything. “You’re being a coward, Nicole! What’re you so afraid of?”

The doors swung open, and if Wynonna weren’t in such a _mood_ she would’ve stepped back the threatening way Nicole was looking at her. Looked a bit exhausted, too. She drank from the stolen whiskey bottle while eyeing Wynonna, like she was rubbing it in. She smelled like those stolen beers, as well.

“I’m not afraid of anything, Wynonna, least of all you.” Something about that didn’t seem convincing, not even to NIcole, who paused for a second. Her words were slightly slurred, as well. “I’m just—I’m sick of risking my life for this stupid cause. I didn’t ask for this shit!”

“Neither did I!” Wynonna’s voice was raised. “You really think I want to be here? Pretending I’m some capable hero? Pretending I can save the world? No! Hell no! But this is bigger than me, and it’s bigger than you, Nicole. This affects everyone. This affects _Waverly._ Don’t you care about the world? About your friend, at least?”

Nicole blinked, licked her lips, opened her mouth once to say something she cancelled immediately. Then she shrugged. “No, I don’t care!” Still didn’t feel convincing. “Caring about people has only caused me pain. Making friends and doing the ‘right thing’ only ever gets me hurt, and I am so _sick_ of getting hurt.” Her voice cracked at that, and if Wynonna wasn’t mistaken, tears were welling up in her eyes. _Tears_. “I’m sick of it! If the world and the universe want to hate me so much, they can both go to Hell!”

That triggered something in Wynonna. “Oh, the world hates you, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, boo hoo, Haught! Newsflash: the world hates all of us. You’re not the only one with a shitty childhood. You’re not the only person who’s lost someone, and you’re not the first to have their life ruined by the Assassins and their stupid war for fantasy novel bullshit with complete incompetence. My dad died, my sister went crazy and died, and they killed my mom like a dog in a prison she didn’t belong in, in the first place! Lucado told me that herself.”

Nicole’s eyes narrowed curiously at that. The Earps’s mother was killed in a prison? And what did she mean, she didn’t “belong” in there? But in the heat of this, she didn’t give it a second thought, and neither did Wynonna.

“I know the Assassins suck, in general and at the ‘hero’ game,” Wynonna went on, “but you’re not special or different or cursed. You’re just like the rest of us here. Only you’re selfish, Nicole. You want to leave because you’re _selfish_.”

“You fucking hypocrite, you tried to leave, too!”

Wynonna stammered a second. She made a note in this rushing moment to come clean to Waverly. “I didn’t know any better! You guys dumped all this crap on me and expected me to go along with it, no problem, after two weeks in _Hell_! I didn’t know how bad this was! You do, more than anyone, you asshole! But I’m here now, and I’m seeing it through. Doesn’t matter if I hate it, because there are people out there that don’t deserve whatever BBD’s got cooked up. Plenty of Waverlys that deserve a happy, long life.” She sighed, feeling a bit calmer now, having let some pent-up anger out. “Edgy vigilantes are so overdone, dude. Sometimes the past is just a detail. And if you really gave a shit about any of us, you’d see it, too. Caring about people and fighting for them’s what life’s about.”

Wynonna walked off, amends forgotten in the fire. If Nicole didn’t want to be here, that was her business.

“I will do this myself if I have to.”

Nicole just stared, silent. Angry, with what she didn’t know. Just angry. Angry, angry, angry, _angry._ Wynonna heard the rear doors slam again.

-

It was Wynonna’s turn for a lecture next. Her biggest giveaway was the fact she didn’t close the mine entrance all the way, afraid the echo of the heavy door would ruin things, so Calamity Jane ventured out. Rosita wanted to think nothing of it, but something told her to. Entered the mine, found Wynonna’s empty bed. She shoved pillows under a blanket to make it look like she stayed. Rosita knew that trick; Nicole used it when they were younger, often. Also, Wynonna was a terribly loud sleeper and it was blissfully silent.

She ran into Rosita on the way back in, still buried in the fight, and shrugged off whatever she was bound to say. Just kept walking for the mine. Rosita hadn’t woken Waverly just yet, luckily. Wynonna turned to her at the door. “Start making new arrangements, Boss. I don’t think Nicole’s coming back.”

To the mine without another word. Rosita stared, dumbfounded.

-

_October 7, 2016_

Willa Earp’s twenty-ninth birthday.

Growing up, it was a day they tried not to think about. Wynonna was always bad with dates, so it was fairly simple. Waverly, having a talent for history, always remembered. But this year was different. Worse. Willa wasn’t just missing anymore, but dead. Confirmed dead. That brought things to a new light.

The Earps were lost in a respectful silence all morning. Waverly did more notes on the last sequence of memories, Wynonna pretended she could play chess and went at it.

Rosita was out all morning looking for Nicole. Try her hand at dragging their best fighter back. Jeremy checked up on the Animus, checked planted bugs for leads in place of Rosita, checked BBD emails about their new Animus. Eventually he decided to drown out the anxious silence with movie soundtracks. Mostly from the recent line of Marvel films, because Doctor Strange’s big screen debut was in thirteen days and he’d be stuck here, saving the stupid world. Felt like a hero himself, but still. Maybe he could find a totally illegal stream somewhere. Of late, wouldn’t be the worst crime he was committing.

Chaos broke out after that. In response, not thinking the tracks epic enough, Wynonna played her own music, downloaded on a totally illegal service. No headphones from either of them. One half of the room was the _Iron Man_ theme, the other Disturbed’s “Perfect Insanity”. Ironic. Waverly became frustrated and played her own collection, but her only pair of half blown-out headphones were in use for work purposes.

So when Rosita entered the mine with news, she walked in on one-third “Driving with the Top Down”, one-third Disturbed, one-third Spice Girls. Obnoxious humming and full-on singing accompanying, Jeremy typing away, Wynonna staring down a chess set, Waverly scribbling notes. Better than the sight from two nights ago, though.

“Okay, ravers,” she yelled over the noise, “I have news!”

Two heads turned to her and silenced their blasting phones. Wynonna was still singing under her breath.

“ _Oh sweet insanity_ —Hey!”

Waverly silenced her phone and pointed to Rosita, who gave an annoyed wave. Wynonna gave an awkward smile and waved in response.

“Please say it’s good news,” Jeremy begged, only to receive a shake of the head. He groaned.

“Nope.” Rosita stepped closer to them, sighing. “I searched the entire forest. The van’s gone.”

Wynonna sat up, eyes as wide as her peers, perhaps wider. “What?” She didn’t think Nicole would actually _leave_ . Shit, was this her fault for what she said last night? When she lost her temper, _again_?

“Are you sure?” Waverly asked, and Rosita nodded.

“There’s no guarantee she’s gone, and no way to know she’s not just going for a little drive,” Rosita fell onto an empty seat, “but we have to assume she’s gone for good.” Quieter, “As much as I don’t want to.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll check again later. For now let’s make a new plan.”

Quiet nods from disbelieving faces.

“I’ll go on jobs from now on. Wynonna, you’re permitted to join. Jeremy stays at the mine, and Waverly overlooks cameras. You two can work together to help us if anything goes wrong.”

Quiet nods again. Wynonna was disappointed. She thought going onto the field would be an earned thing she actually wanted to earn for once, not a “there’s no other choice” thing.

“I’ll train from now on, and I need Waverly and Jeremy to do more VR shooting. No more stalling.”

Quiet nods.

Rosita nodded herself and made to stand, worry overtaking her face. She paused to eye the Earps. “And if you want, we can have a memorial for Willa tonight.”

“Thank you,” Wynonna said right off, genuinely grateful. Not _all_ Assassins were complete losers, she thought.

-

Second sisterly forest talk as they took the reins in search of Nicole. Wynonna procrastinated in bringing up trying to leave on the first day, instead recalling the few harmless pranks Willa pulled when they were kids. Did it even matter? She came back, right? But Waverly deserved to know. When Wynonna took that gun, she promised to be a better person. Besides, lying to Waverly never felt right. Like kicking a puppy right in the face.

“Hey, so, I tried to leave, too.”

Wynonna’s eyes went wide with how fast she said it. How sudden. Waverly was talking, but she was too busy freaking out to listen. Blurting it out sure as hell wasn’t the plan, and the way Waverly stopped them sure as hell didn’t help the case. But she didn’t look disappointed. _Wow_ , were they really at that point?

“I know,” she admitted, “I saw you.”

Wynonna’s eyes went wider. If she was in a position to get mad, she would’ve. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What do you mean why didn’t _I_ tell _you_ , why didn’t _you_ tell _me_?”

Wynonna stammered.

“But you came back, so—”

“It was still a shitty thing—”

“I understood why. You were scared and overwhelmed and just spent two weeks with Black Badge, which couldn’t have been easy. Honestly, I think I would’ve left too, if I was in your shoes.”

Wynonna crossed her arms. “Yeah, right. You’re better than leaving because you’re scared. What if I didn’t come back?”

Waverly looked like she just said something insane. “You wouldn’t leave me behind.”

“I’ve done it before.”

Now Waverly was crossing her arms. “Different circumstances, here.” She twisted her face. “Also, you never got mad about me for joining a super dangerous secret agent group, so I thought we were even?”

Wynonna resumed their walking. Just past the usual parking spot range now, coals in the mud marked with four scratches. “Oh, don’t get me started on that.”

“You aren’t mad though, right?” Waverly trailed after, taking bigger steps to catch up.

Wynonna stopped again. “Baby girl, if I could, I would’ve wrapped you up in bubble wrap and shipped you off to Norway by now. Safest place in the world, you know.”

“Sure.” Waverly’s expression asked for more. Wynonna rolled her eyes, displeased.

“But you’re a grown up girl now, and, sadly, I can’t make choices for you anymore. So if you’re happy here, I can’t really stop you, can I?” She pinched both of Waverly’s cheeks. “Who’s gonna disappoint that face?”

Waverly swatted her off, and Wynonna pointed into her chest, suddenly serious.

“But if you get hurt, I swear on the happiness of Norway I will give you eight Wet Willies while blasting more Avengers music.”

Waverly shook her head. “Norway wouldn’t let that happen.”

Wynonna pointed her finger more forcefully. “I will kick the ass of all those peace-loving hippies, too.”

Waverly pushed her finger aside. “For the record, the safest country in the world is _Iceland,_ not Norway.”

Wynonna looked devastated, like everything she knew was a lie. “What?”

-

Sparring with Rosita wasn’t the same. Wynonna didn’t mind her constant breaks because of her leg, in the slightest bit. If anything, she invited them, because she, personally, was in terrible shape. It’s that everything was too technical. Too serious. Too boring. No motivation to win just to erase the cocky look on her partner’s face, because there wasn’t one. But at least she was learning stuff. She hoped Nicole was alright. And also heading back, because _damn_ was she sure they couldn’t do this without her. No way a rookie with a couple days’ training could take on a swarm of super soldiers.

She was also starting to notice the cat. More rowdy than usual, whining and whining all day because her person was gone. She seemed okay with Waverly, but at night she crawled up on Nicole’s bed and looked sadder than anything Wynonna’d ever seen. Poor thing.

Dinner had the same weirdness. No Jeremy getting Nicole to try new things so normal to all of them. No discussing the current events Nicole read as they ate, Wynonna learning a lot more about politics than she ever cared to. She even let Jeremy cook in peace. Not the same bothering him alone. Meanwhile the cat didn’t eat. Not even when Waverly tried.

The memorial was a success, at least. Rosita was a practiced hand in these given her line of work, deadly for both victim and prey. They sat around a campfire outside. The Earps told all about her. Her flaws, the things she did do right considering an overbearing, unkind father. Rosita told them how long she held on against her captors’ harsh treatment. She fought until the very end.

-

_October 8, 2016_

Midnight, and Waverly was wide awake. Trying to drown out her sister’s snoring, a fiend now that alcohol was reintroduced. “Lucky” for everyone, she had a spare bottle of whiskey to replace the one Nicole stole. Calamity Jane was next to her, finding enough comfort in her replacement human to sleep. Jeremy fell asleep rereading downloaded comics. Rosita was on guard shift outside. Jeremy would take over later.

Something overtook Waverly. She made to stand, and Calamity Jane retreated to Nicole’s mattress, annoyed. She had to do something. Her mind was wandering because she was scared. If Nicole was out, they didn’t stand a chance, and she knew every single person here, cat included, believed it too. She was hurt, too. She was becoming fond of Nicole’s presence. Her childlike curiosity, that adorable expression she made when she “discovered” the simplest thing so normal to everybody else but so significant to her stunted world. The fact her most prized person in the universe was a cat. Her patience. Her attentiveness. She listened to that _entire,_ lengthy historical recap of the O.K. Corral shootout. _“This_ is _interesting, and you’ve worked hard on it.”_ When Waverly admitted no one’s ever let her go on that far, Nicole said that makes _them_ boring. Nicole was too good to let go, and not just because of her skillset.

Waverly looked at Wynonna. Out cold. Jeremy, too. There was a dumb idea swirling in her brilliant brain, and she was following it. It worked out in her head, so it’d be fine in real life, too. That’s how it went, right?

In Waverly’s eyes, sneaking out past a professional assassin was doable, and in her eyes she did it without bringing any attention to herself.

She didn’t.

But at this point, Rosita could use a miracle. She knew Nicole was still here, despite rearrangements otherwise. She just _knew_ it. Nicole wouldn’t leave. She already tried to. Didn’t take. And though they were close, Rosita wasn’t entirely positive she could successfully bring her back. In reality, she’d probably just make her angrier. But Waverly was special, and Nicole really liked her. Rosita saw it, the extended glances and that smile when Waverly entered the room or talked or did anything, really. She hoped whatever was going on there would take. Nicole _needed_ a friend, someone with positive energy to talk to and balance out all that despair locked up inside, the despair she refused to acknowledge or probably ever deal with as long as they were here. Who better to brighten up some shadows than Waverly Earp, Purgatory’s nicest person, unchallenged? She followed Waverly to watch her back. If she let a bear maul her, Wynonna would go on a merciless rampage and _Rosita_ would be the one getting mauled.

There was one place in the mess of trees Nicole was sure to park if she planned to stay but also hide from the team: right next to the area’s only entrance/exit. They searched earlier, but found nothing. Waverly searched again now, and there it was. Because no matter how badly she might’ve wanted to, Nicole could not abandon them. This Waverly knew for certain.

In the van, Nicole was listening to that song. Remembering something quite disappointing from the past. There was a time she and her definitely-something-more-than-a-friend friend, Shae Pressman tried sneaking out to see a movie. A rescreening of an old _Star Wars_ film to get people to  actually go to Purgatory’s run down cinema, with its awful popcorn and ripped up seats and local hobo pestering people in the parking lot for beer money. It would’ve been Nicole’s first time seeing any movie, and Jeremy offered when they first met but she turned it down. Wouldn’t be the same. Shae spent a long time hyping it up, telling her details about the rich world the series created over the years in movies and TV shows and novels and comics, telling her what to expect, and they were set to sneak off. Growing up, the Mentor “assigned” Rosita to look after Nicole once she began to get into trouble. Set her straight, basically. Rosita fell for his strict rules and tried to enforce them on Nicole after they’d gotten close. They were around the same age, so for the most part it worked. She was the reason they got caught. To this day Rosita still feels guilty for being so gullible to the crappy policies.

A soft knocking on the back doors is what interrupted Nicole. At first she expected an intruder, some curious Black Badge Templar ready to enforce their inevitable End Times, not Waverly and her quiet, caring tone.

“Nicole? Can you let me in?”

A nice contrast between the sisters; where Wynonna ran in with hot impatience, Waverly was gentle and loving.

Nicole decided not to answer, because she feared she might say yes and release all kinds of feelings she preferred to not feel or think about just now or perhaps ever. Waverly made her heart race, and right now it’d rather stay sad and still, thanks.

Waverly sighed at the silence. She tugged the blankets she’d wrapped around herself a little tighter and looked about. Just them, as far as she could tell with untrained eyes. Had no idea Rosita was in the background, trained eyes keeping them safe from any sort of surprise attack.

She sat on the bumper, shivering slightly. “Is it okay if I sit a minute? That walk is ridiculous and it’s late and I haven’t exactly been sleeping well lately.”

No answer, but Nicole was making to sit against the doors, back-to-back with Waverly if not for the metal between them. She contemplated further opening it, staring unsurely at the handle.

The voice from outside kept on. “I’m sorry, but I accidentally saw what the Animus picked up on you. Jeremy, too. But we deleted it, I swear.”

Nicole set her head against the cold metal, her eyes closing. She thought of those awful times, what it felt like to relive them so fully and suddenly. How long she worked to forget them.

“I don’t blame you for being mad all the time. I can’t imagine a life like that. Killing people. Never seeing the outside world beyond walls, like a prison. You’re just now trying out candy! I wouldn’t last a second of that life. Not with my sweet tooth.”

Nicole snorted a laugh, too small for Waverly to hear.

“And losing someone like Shae, I can’t imagine that. Everyone else you’ve ever known. After being so close to freedom.”

Nicole pulled her bent legs closer, making herself small.

“That’s hard. So hard.”

There was a long pause, one that threatened to have Nicole speak up. Waverly beat her to it.

“You know, I lost my mom when I was four. She was arrested for something crazy. She was linked to covering up a murder with a man we never met. She pled guilty, didn’t deny anything. Two days later someone killed her and her accomplice in their cells. Mama was a rodeo queen. What was she doing covering up a murder? I always thought it was a revenge plot from a jealous rider, and maybe he bribed her or blackmailed her, otherwise I could never figure out why she would do it.”

Nicole made a note of that oddity. No way they died or killed for no reason, certainly not for a rodeo-related incident of all things. The Earp family’s importance was above coincidences.

“God, and in the same month my hamster died!” Nicole heard sniffling, over sad laughter. “Can you believe that?”

Nicole shook her head sympathetically, as if Waverly could see her.

More sniffling. “Oh, um, Calamity Jane’s been missing you.”

_Shit!_ How could she leave Jane behind? Poor thing was probably eighty shades of depressed.

“I’m not much of a cat person, but I think I’ve been doing a pretty good job. I don’t mind the cuddling. It’s nice. I know she makes you happy, so I’m—”

Nicole pulled the handle and pushed the door open. Waverly stood from the bumper, looking a bit startled at the sudden movement.

“Thank you, Waverly.” That cat was important to her.

She noted the smile on Waverly’s face, all relief at the sight of the team’s missing piece. Waverly noted how tired Nicole looked, the messy hair, those big beautiful eyes so sad.

Waverly unwrapped the blankets from her person and closed the short distance between them. Offering the pile, “I thought you might be cold.”

Nicole gently accepted them, her expression thankful. The piercing cold warmed at that.

She looked between Waverly and the van. “It’s late. You shouldn’t walk back now.”

It was an invitation. Waverly wanted to say Nicole could’ve walked her back now, but, honestly, she didn’t have another long walk in her. She entered the van. In the distance, Rosita returned to the mine, satisfied.

Van wasn’t too cold. Certainly better than outside. There was a pile of blankets spread across the long back half of the truck, some open and empty beers and soup cans sitting out of the way. The team’s one medical kit was on one of the benches. Waverly was impressed when she pieced it together, because Nicole really was a professional (that or their lookouts were bound to get them killed); she stole these things from the mess hall. Unnoticed. Soup didn’t match the various rations on the van shelves, and no way there was beer stored here, either. And judging from the delightful, opposite camping-in-the-woods way Nicole smelled, she snuck into the showers, too.

“I’ll take the passenger seat.” Meaning Waverly could have the comfortable pile of blankets to sleep on instead of a lumpy old chair. Awfully sweet. Nicole even left her one of the two new blankets.

There was a CD player next to the makeshift bed. Headphones bumping against Waverly’s ear when she unknowingly laid on top of them. _“Today I was an evil one . . .”_ That song again. She paused it.

“Do you even like that song, Nicole?” In the limited lighting of the moon cutting past the tree line, she saw Nicole look over her shoulder. Decided to reword, “It didn’t seem like you did when you said before.”

Waverly sat up when she heard Nicole laugh. Curious.

“I hate that song. So much.”

Then Waverly was laughing. “Was it Shae’s favorite?”

When a silence fell upon them, she wanted to scream. She overstepped, didn’t she?

“Her dad’s,” was the answer. Waverly stopped holding her breath. “He died and her uncle was supposed to take care of her. Her mom left years before. He was an Assassin and thought recruiting her was a bright idea, for whatever reason. Then he died too, and she was stuck there. Mentor wouldn’t let her leave. He called mutiny on any quitters and had them killed for ‘treason’. She was the only person who hated them more than I did. She lugged around that CD player all the time, and listened to that album all the time. She said if there was a movie about her life, that song would play. Mine too, I think.”

Right off, the lines _“and by humbly allowing / God to grant me sweetness”_ came to mind. It made Waverly want to debate, but she went the respectful route and let Nicole finish.

“I kind of wish Jeremy went into music culture instead of movies. Movies and games are nice, but they get boring after so long. But I guess there’s nothing else to do here, right?”

Waverly was disappointed in her workplace best friend. “Okay, well, Jeremy is officially fired from pop culture education.” She heard Nicole laugh. “Let’s leave that to the historian.”

“Please, anything but another hour of _Skyrim._ I am terrible at that game. I accidentally killed a chicken and now I have a bounty on my head.”

Waverly put her hand over her heart in sympathy. “Poor chicken. She had so many lands to travel.”

Quiet again, but not uncomfortable or sad this time. The air was calming, and Waverly couldn’t believe—was she actually helping?

Nicole looked over her shoulder again. “Hey, I’m sorry about your mother. I, um, I can look into it, if you want me to.”

Waverly straightened up. “Yeah. Thank you. That would be great.”

Nicole nodded. “Thanks for telling me. It couldn’t have been easy. A-and thanks for deleting the Animus files. I don’t care if Jeremy saw, either.”

Waverly smiled. “You’re welcome, Nicole.”

Nicole relaxed against the passenger seat. Closed her eyes.

“I never really thought about my childhood before. It just seems so long ago. I think I forgot all the bad stuff, or blocked it out, honestly. I always knew what happened to my parents. I don’t know how, but I remember the gunshots and the screaming and two people in front of me, dead. Somehow I knew they were dead, and I didn’t even know what ‘dead’ was yet.”

Waverly looked at her silhouette. “Is that why you hate guns?”

“Uh huh.” Because they ruined her life before her life really started. “Once you pull that trigger, you can’t take it back. Whatever you hit, it’s gone. Forever. I don’t like the power killing someone has, either; holding their entire life in your hands. Deciding whether or not their kid will see them again. Or their partners, or parents, friends, pets. Nobody should spend every night missing someone, or thinking about a life that could’ve been. Trust me, it’s an awful, awful feeling.”

Waverly knew the feeling.

Nicole continued after a breath, “All I really remember was being a teenager with Shae and getting into trouble all the time. She was special. She opened my eyes. She made me question everything, like we were supposed to. ‘Nothing is true, everything is permitted’.” A pause. “But recently I’ve been trying to forget all of that, too. She died and I hate it, so I’m trying to run away. I realized that today.”

Waverly positioned herself to sit against the van wall, rather than lean herself upward on her wrist’s support.“You can’t hold everything in, Nicole. Eventually you’ll burst.”

“I did—I yelled at Rosita in front of everyone! I left, and I tried to leave again today, just like I did when Shae died. When Wynonna and I talked, she really pissed me off at first, but then I thought about it. Maybe I am selfish. I’m putting my own problems above everyone and everything else.”

Waverly’s head swiveled to her, almost offended she’d say such a thing. “Hey, that’s not true. You’re not selfish, Nicole. You’re just confused. Everything in your life changed, so quickly. I felt the same when the homestead was attacked. I used to fight with Aunt Gus and run away to go back, like that’d fix everything.”

A laugh at the thought of Rebellious Waverly. “Yeah, but you were six. I’m twenty-five. What does that say about me?”

Waverly rolled her eyes at that. “It says feelings aren’t something you grow out of. Look at you: you’re bottling everything up and telling yourself not to feel, and now you’re miserable and you don’t know what to do other than be more miserable. You’re only so happy with Calamity Jane because you allow yourself to be. Or the other day, when we were all training. You have to breathe, Nicole.” She laughed to herself. “Wow, you and Wynonna are really similar.”

Nicole looked over her seat and found Waverly in the dark. “You really are smart.”

Waverly moved a strand of hair from her face. Ready to take over in denying truths. “No, I’m not.”

Nicole shook her head before looking off. “Don’t, I will fight you next.” She exhaled, long, and Waverly swore she saw her rubbing at her eyes. “Um, I think I’d like to start those music culture lessons now.”

Waverly was relieved to end this on a high note. She grabbed her phone from her back pocket and scrolled through her mass collection of downloads. Unlike her thieving peers, she purchased everything legally.

Nicole left the passenger’s seat to sit with her, and with the closer distance realized Waverly was shivering cold, so she handed over the other blanket the girl trekked here with.

“No, I’m okay.”

Nicole wasn’t buying that. She beat the stubbornness by flat out tossing the thing over. Defending, “I have a high cold tolerance. It’s the heat that bugs me.” Only then did Waverly find it ethical to accept and wrapped herself up again with both the blankets she walked over with and intended to give away, as well as the two on the ground under her. Nicole smiled at her, in her little pile, and Waverly wished the sun would peek out just so she could see it fully. Nicole had a great smile.

A guitar line played and moved to unison hits with a drum set. Nicole sat against the van wall, Waverly back where she was before next to the shelves.

“I plan to make you some training playlists,” Waverly promised. “ _Please_ tell me you know this one.”

Nicole shook her head blankly, and Waverly’s shoulders dropped. She looked offended, as highlighted by her glowing screen.

“Eye of the Tiger! No?”

Shake of the head.

“Wow, you really did have a rough childhood.”

Nicole laughed. She listened for a bit, as lead singer Dave Bickler went on about getting back on his feet to fight. Felt stupidly relevant.

“Hey,” she spoke up after a couple phrases, “can you tell me about this song?”

“Sure.” Waverly locked the phone, its light disappearing from the way it lit her face up in a campfire horror story fashion. “It was written for the 1982 film _Rocky III_ , a boxing movie, when its star reached out to the band Survivor to write a new theme for the movie. He wanted it to appeal to younger audiences and be ‘cooler’.”

“Because watching grown men beat each other’s faces in isn’t cool enough?” Nicole joked.

“Apparently not. They only used it because they couldn’t get the rights to Queen’s ‘Another One Bites the Dust’.”

Nicole raised her brow. “All that legal stuff for a song?”

“The music business is tough.”

“I guess.”

“When I was younger I hated this song. I thought it was dumb and my Uncle Curtis used to played it all the time. He boxed in his free time to stay in shape for tending the farm. So this one’s for him.” She looked up, to the heavens if not for the van’s roof. “One last listen, Curtis.”

-

They fell asleep midway through “Another One Bites the Dust” and woke to “Crazy Little Thing Called Love”. They were quiet, enjoying each other’s presence and Waverly’s collection of Queen songs. Nicole felt relaxed from their talk last night. Like the crushing feeling inside of her released and she was finally catching her breath after the world’s longest marathon. Things were infinitely better this way, facing the pain head-on. Accepting things were a mess rather than try to ignore it.

Waverly looked ready to scream in happiness when Nicole revealed she’d stay and see this thing through. That normal life she craved could only begin after the old one ended. She couldn’t leave her friend, either. She always knew that, and was never willing to give up the last person in her life. She also hadn’t considered the satisfying prospect of avenging Shae, by finishing this.

Of course, she wasn’t admitting all of that to Waverly. Instead she explained her change of heart, “I can’t let Wynonna get away with kicking my ass, can I?”

Waverly was trying to hide her excitement, the big grin on her face. It persisted anyhow. “I don’t know, she’s been training.”

“Yeah, for what, a whole day? With Rosi—Actually, okay, Rosita’s not too bad. She knocked me out in one punch once.”

Waverly eyed her. “Calamity Jane will be mad, though.”

No doubt the cat was making even more trouble now that her primary and secondary humans were gone. Though technically Wynonna was never relieved from babysitting duty.

“So mad,” Nicole agreed. She stood as tall as she could in the space, looking towards the driver’s seat. “Best not keep her waiting.”

She helped Waverly off the ground and to the passenger seat, the two taking in the heat the second the air conditioning warmed up. Nicole cut walking time down by driving them closer, back to the old parking spot.

When the engine was cut Nicole gave Waverly the sincerest of looks. “Thank you. What you said really changed things for me.”

Like Shae.

-

The return of Nicole’s grounding energy was something Waverly compared to finding home again. Before questioning why she was linking “Nicole” and “home” together and promptly changing the subject.

They stopped by the bathroom when returning to camp for the sake of attending to normal human functions, then headed off to the mess hall to reinstate Nicole’s team membership. Not many applicants, so luckily there was no wait time. On the porch Nicole set the med kit she was lugging on the bench and outstretched her arms to reunite with her unbothered cat, waiting and staring almost hatefully. Calamity Jane considered her, swiping her tail left to right, before completely blowing her off to greet Waverly. Scurried off to the mine afterwards, Nicole watching.

“Yeah, I deserve that much.”

Entered the mess hall, where it so happened Wynonna was playing “Eye of the Tiger” and going at their already beaten down punching bag. Nicole studied some of her exchanges. Not bad, for a newbie.

“Relax,” she called, and Wynonna froze. “Be light on your feet; you’re so tense.”

Wynonna turned to find the voice of their missing member, disbelief to her.

“I don’t want a sloppy field partner,” Nicole grinned, water apparently under the bridge between them.

For now Wynonna delayed greeting Nicole and marched over to pull her little sister in for a hug. She looked her over with the careful inspection one would give a new car, handling Waverly as she spun her around once and twice. Waverly just took it.

“You little shit,” she spat when she deemed little sister in perfect condition, “why’d you sneak off like that?”

She smacked her arm, which Waverly clutched in return. “Hey, _I’m_ not a punching bag!”

Wynonna hit her again. “Don’t sneak off again!”

Waverly was rubbing her arm now. Good thing she was wearing layers. “Jeez, okay. What’ll you do next time, break my legs?”

She walked off to grab breakfast, first taking the kit from Nicole to set on the table. Let her have free hands so she and Wynonna could talk. And if they broke out into another fight, she could hit them both over the head with the kit and settle things right off.

“I just might!” Wynonna called in response.

When Waverly was out of sight Wynonna found Nicole again, smiling nervously, hands shoved in her pockets. They were sweatpants, so the whole gauntlet on her left hand fit all its monstrosity in. Wynonna tossed back a small smile of her own, not really sure how to go about this. Hadn’t been this emotionally invested into someone since her last friend back in high school, Mercedes. _Were_ she and Nicole technically friends? Or was it more workplace associates? Two people stuck in one place who really, really, really wanted to be anywhere else right now?

“Glad you’re back,” she tried. “Bet your cat is, too.”

Nicole leaned against the wall. “She’s mad, but she’ll get over it.”

Wynonna nodded. Tapped her fingers against her thighs. Looked over the room a bit. They really needed a broom. Maybe steal a Roomba and see what Jane would do with it. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was tired and pissy and scared and for some reason I thought yelling at you would make things better. And, Jesus, I can’t believe I shot at you before—”

“Your tough love helped.” Wynonna was surprised to hear that. Yeah, uh huh, tough love was the plan, for sure. “It did. Look, I’m over the apologies, okay? Just take care of yourself so it doesn’t happen again.” She leaned off the wall, stood for her own. Stepped a little closer, eyes deep in the blues before her. “Because next time, instead of letting you blow off steam, I’ll just knock you out.”

Wynonna nodded in acceptance, “That’s fair.” She tapped Nicole’s side in good faith, but immediately felt regret when Nicole hissed in pain. “Oh, shit!”

Nicole held her side and stared somewhere else. Breathing through the reignited burning as Wynonna anxiously looked her over. “I’m gonna go find Rosita now,” she strained, and left. Wynonna nodded again.

“Yeah, that’s fair, too.”

She watched Nicole step out, her face twisted in embarrassment and guilt, completely unaware Waverly had seen the whole thing, mumbling into her tea.

“Bless her, she tries.”

-

Nicole didn’t think to ask where Rosita was. Chances were she was off on her morning walk, but Nicole headed to the mine to check anyway. Calamity Jane stared at her from the entrance, making her feelings towards her traitorous human clear as day. Clearer when she scurried back to the mess hall. Nicole wondered if the real Calamity Jane was this dramatic.

No Rosita. Then again, she wasn’t entirely sure. There was a significant _distraction_ when she entered.

Jeremy, dancing and singing to whatever was blasting in his headphones as Animus memories were moved to flash drives and blank CDs.

“ _Baby you light up my world like nobody else._ ” He twirled, shook his hips, and Nicole actually felt nauseous. “ _The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed._ ” Clapped his hands together. Nicole felt a wave of second hand embarrassment. “ _You don’t know, oh-oh_ —” He suddenly caught sight of Nicole and froze, his eyes wide. “Nicole!”

He pulled his headphones down to wrap around his neck and sprinted over to pull Nicole into a hug. She found herself hissing again when he hit her wound by accident. Starting to regret coming back.

“Oh, crap,” he panicked. “Sorry! I didn’t—”

Nicole waved him off. “That’s okay, Jeremy.” She gave his shoulder a tap and shot off a welcoming smile. “Hey, it’s good to see you.”

He looked so excited it warmed Nicole’s heart. “You too! Especially with certain death looming and you being our only real chance of not rotting in a BBD prison for decades, waiting for—”

“I’m here to stay. Promise.” Best to stop him. If there was one thing she knew about Jeremy, he could go on forever. “Have you seen Rosita around? I have several things to undo.”

He shook his head no. “She’ll be back from her walk soon. You know she’s not mad at you, right?”

Nicole sighed. “She ought to be.”

-

Calamity Jane, self-proclaimed God among mortals, was a generous creature. She knew her human needed comfort, always so down in the dumps, so she approached and joined her on the porch as she awaited Rosita’s return. Nicole apologized and asked for permission to pet. Jane blessed her with the opportunity to do so, only letting her get a few in before returning to the steps to stare vengefully. _How dare you abandon me, human . . ._

Rosita spotted Nicole first. Her mind looked busy as she walked over, and Nicole was trying to not look like the sorriest person on the planet, no different from a puppy after chewing its owner’s shoes.

Neither said a word, not even as Rosita sat on the bench. Calamity Jane left for the mine, either to let them settle things or avoid an awkward conversation. Nicole almost wanted to join her. The want to get this over with is what made her break the silence first.

“Rosita, I’m really—”

“Are you okay? I know what you saw. How’s your wound, are you keeping it clean?”

Nicole was relieved to be met with concern and not a list of reasons why she was a screw-up of a friend. “I’m fine. That doesn’t matter. What matters is I was a jackass and I took out all of my frustration on you in front of everyone, and I tried to leave again. Everything I said was messed up, and stupid, and I didn’t mean any of it.”

“Somewhere deep inside you did,” Rosita sighed. Nicole eyed her in a panic. “But that’s okay; I’m gonna work on it. Just because I’m new to this doesn’t mean I can make stupid calls, or freak out. I’m in charge, and I have to start acting like it. You deserve to be mad, really. You’re only here in the first place because of me.”

Nicole turned to face her, fully. “No, I’m here because I need to be.” She shrugged. “Can’t let them win, right? But, yeah, watching your back is a bonus.”

“We square?”

“Until the next argument.”

Nicole stuck out her hand, which Rosita shook with an eye roll. They only fought so often because they were both stubborn and so close, but still.

“Actually,” Rosita said once their hands parted, “I have something for you.” She stood. “But you can’t be mad.”

Nicole laughed. “Wow, already?”

She followed Rosita back to the mine, moving with some purpose. The cat eyed them on the way in, as if gossiping to herself on whether or not they made up or decided to stay mad. Even the cat was _that_ bored in this place. Inside they tried to the best of their ability to ignore Jeremy as he gave an imaginary concert with a Rihanna song.

“Remember when I went into town the other day?” Rosita asked, hushed, between them.

“Despite the rule, yes.”

They stopped by the corner also considered the “armory”. Where Nicole was now noticing the new crates and extra boxes of ammo. Rosita made to open a crate.

She went on, “I went to our old headquarters—”

“ _What_?”

“—and poked around.” Dutifully ignoring the rage steaming off Nicole’s head. Fair rage; the place was Black Badge-monitored and completely off-limits according to their team rules here. She lightened, “Black Badge picked it clean and left. I guess they finally believe we’re not there. The basement was untouched. You know, the tiny one you and Shae snuck off to and did _very_ adult things in?”

Nicole’s face went red. “How’d you know about that?”

Rosita deadpanned, “We were trained to be stellar in observation, I was supposed to look after you, and it was stupidly obvious?”

Nicole just rubbed the back of her neck.

“Anyway, I left what I found in the car, in case we needed to get away fast, and you left so quick last dig site I couldn’t tell you about it.” She pried the container open with the use of her hidden blade as a crowbar. “Then I decided to leave only _some_ and brought most of it here when Jeremy was on shift—”

“You have to be careful with your leg.”

“I brought them back—” Rosita ignored— “because I thought you might be interested in these.”

She held up the contents. A metal dual-tipped sort of weapon with a handle. The tips were sharpened as knives, ready to pierce. Looked like a spike.

Nicole didn’t recognize the thing, staring with a blank, unmoved expression. Rosita looked disappointed. “You don’t know about these?”

Nicole shrugged. “Why would I know anything about our history?”

Rosita sighed at that. “Fair point.” She returned the tool in her hand to the box, gripping the edges as she explained, “Waverly wanted to know about the other Brotherhoods around the world, and I remembered the Indian Assassins. Did you ever read about Sir Henry Green or Dame Evie Frye—” She stopped herself when Nicole looked lost. “Of course not. They didn’t start these techniques, but their usage is most notable, namely when Dame Frye used them in London to kill—Um.” She eyed Jeremy. Decided to choose her words more cautiously, headphones and singing or not. “Someone we’re not supposed to talk about. My point is they used fear-inducing tools and non-lethal techniques.”

Nicole perked up in response.

“I also have some new mixes waiting. There were new recipes—ones I should’ve figured out myself—and supplies down there, too. It’ll let the hallucinogenic darts inflict specific emotional distress instead of a random one; fear, anger, joy. I think I can make them into bombs, too.” She tapped the edges of the crate. “What do you think?”

Nicole just blinked, a dumb, thankful grin to her. “I think I should make you mad more often.”

Rosita rolled her eyes again. She let go of the box and rounded to step closer to Nicole. Still ignoring Jeremy’s outbursts, to Beyoncé now. “I don’t get to control how you want to do things. I might not agree because I think it’s riskier, but it’s your choice and I should’ve been a better friend.”

Nicole grabbed one of the spikes and examined it. “Yeah, I think you’re off the hook.”

Rosita took it to regain her full attention. “Just try not to pin up Wynonna on anything, okay?”

Nicole took it back, an evil look to her eye. “Thanks for the idea.”

She ran off before Rosita could stop her. Rosita just sighed. She deemed it a new type of training exercise before getting back to work. And throwing a rock at Jeremy so she could actually focus. He misinterpreted and asked what beef she had with Beyoncé.

-

Things were looking up as more long hours of the day’s twenty-four hour cycle passed on. Nicole and Wynonna trained, no one getting hurt this time, and Wynonna was happy to see her trainer’s cocky grin again. Only motivated her to win, especially today, when Nicole seemed on top of her game. No amount of bad puns were helpful, either.

When they moved to shooting, something seemed off. Wyatt hadn’t made an appearance, is the only reason she noticed. It wasn’t the guns, she didn’t think. Nicole didn’t seem to notice the scores until they were pointed out, or fairly dumb mistakes she would’ve normally corrected. Something was still on her mind.

Same thing at “early” dinner. “Early” meaning at a normal people time instead of late in the night because of work schedules pushing it back, and everyone too stubborn to stop and eat something. Nicole quiet at dinner, or in general, wasn’t abnormal. Usually she ignored everybody and read news articles online. Now they knew why; keeping at a distance was her plan. She’d sometimes discuss with Rosita, spreading then to the rest of the group. Wynonna thought they were on good terms, friendlier terms, so she expected some chatter. That, and Nicole seemed to have everything sorted out now. It wasn’t until Waverly and Jeremy argued about Disney movies—because _dear god_ he hadn’t shown her _any_ yet—she broke her silence.

“I need to get something off my chest, if everybody doesn’t mind listening.”

Of course, they agreed.

“Recently I’ve realized—” she indicated Waverly— “that bottling up everything is for the worst. And talking things out, honestly, made me feel so much better. I don’t want to be angry anymore. I’m tired of it. I just want to _breathe._ ”

The look in Wynonna’s eyes was of understanding.

“I don’t want you to hear this from anyone else. Not Rosita, or a machine. Just me.” She looked to the Earps specifically. “I’m going to tell you about my life with the Brotherhood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Losing someone’s hard, but don’t forget to take care of yourself <3
> 
> Songs used in this chapter:  
> Today I Was An Evil One, Bonnie “Prince” Billy [(S)](https://open.spotify.com/track/71zMrFpT52Sib35idVbRMv?si=K7yTEUYxS9Wmg11qgLm1cw) [(Y)](https://youtu.be/1yOpZS091LY)  
> Perfect Insanity, Disturbed [(S)](https://open.spotify.com/track/1soFvaQCeRCNk19k0bKfzl?si=QfJuFHZxRfG1dShIRErFug) [(Y)](https://youtu.be/WYJGevYt_L8)  
> Driving with the Top Down, Ramin Djawadi [(S)](https://open.spotify.com/track/7nEFX3rildEE9Q1saUDqxd?si=w1XZmcfGS4mp06Zgu5BP7A) [(Y)](https://youtu.be/I9PhfUsFvj0)  
> Eye of the Tiger, Survivor [(S)](https://open.spotify.com/track/65S2uk1hIun6u09QaSckn7?si=EbdmiLPjSR6rOgm3XkwNAQ) [(Y)](https://youtu.be/ktQ8FbzniLU)  
> Another One Bites the Dust, Queen [(S)](https://open.spotify.com/track/5HkFTCxSeJ3kGNyQJbT4rJ?si=foTJwUu0QB-LQsXcrWZkrA) [(Y)](https://youtu.be/232naAvYiGY)  
> Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Queen [(S)](https://open.spotify.com/track/61cJFE80UmxuAr47TZ1hik?si=QGvTbx17QpGmNJ5SJr_8AA) [(Y)](https://youtu.be/uvYNKgLchKE)  
> What Makes You Beautiful, One Direction [(S)](https://open.spotify.com/track/3SPDQfj2UfWq6A2NllZnzn?si=ERlFqfG2SLeRVXcuhgNJhg) [(Y)](https://youtu.be/QJO3ROT-A4E)
> 
> Dear sweet lord of corn please listen to Driving with the Top Down, Perfect Insanity, and any Spice Girls song at the same time it’s friggin’ hilarious (at least it was at one in the morning)
> 
> Pardon me, but music creates bonds and solves all problems, thanks.
> 
> The spikes and Evie Frye talk was all referencing Assassin's Creed Syndicate and its add-on campaign following Jack the Ripper, which, by the way, has one of the best soundtracks I've ever friggin' heard, whew
> 
> Fun fact: The moon was barely even out on 10/7/16, according to the charts I checked so how Waverly and Nicole saw each other in the dramatic moonlight is a mystery I ain’t got any time for this fine afternoon (yes I do)
> 
> Also yes, that post-apocalypse show reference was the 100/Lexa’s death 
> 
> This story is finally about to loosen up a bit, namely chapter ten here. Don’t know if that’s a big deal, but personally I can’t take anything seriously, man, I gotta goof off, and this story feels waaaay too serious for my taste. Some Wayhaught stuff’s on it’s way too, fiiinnnnalllllyyyy. A fourth modern day chapter will also be added after this trio, because chapter ten ended in a way I didn’t expect, so Wyatt’s chapter had to be postponed. That chapter will have a boatload of Wayhaught, so I’m suuuuper excited to get started on that. The old west stuff’s not canceled or anything, just pushed back a bit. But something sour will make them wish they stopped, y e e t
> 
> Also shout out to my dog for conquering her separation anxiety in full and not chewing anything while I was away for a whole week! Good girl!
> 
> Second shout out to me for not blacklisting Red Dead Redemption 2 on Tumblr and accidentally spoiling the entire game heyo
> 
> Let Jeremy see Doctor Strange, damn it


	9. Rejecting A Creed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayo look at us, with a two week streak now, very nice, very nice
> 
> I hope it’s alright I keep adding tags, truly, I just keep realizing I’ve forgotten some here and there. If I’ve still left some out, don’t hesitate to give me a shout, I’ll gladly add ‘em!
> 
> This chapter is entirely from the point of view of Nicole as she tells the team her story. Picks off immediately where the last chapter left off.

_I was three when the Assassins recruited me. When my parents found out they were having me, they decided to retire. Back then, that wasn’t a problem. New leadership changed the rule later. Labeled it “mutiny”. They moved to my dad’s hometown and made housing arrangements with connections they had. That’s what I was told. Templars murdered them after using them to get information on the Assassins. Recently, I learned they gave away the location of the American Brotherhoods’ hideouts. They pulled a gun on my father and shot him, but not fatally. Not yet. My mother ran to the nursery to try to escape with me. One cornered her. My father stepped in just in time, but the rest piled into the room with him. There were gunshots left and right, reverberating in the space. They begged for it to stop. My parents fought until their dying breaths, sustaining impossible wounds until they finally bled out and died in front of me. I never liked guns. They’re messy and loud, and you can’t take back whatever it was you shot. Seeing them die again, reliving it, has only disgusted me further._

_Word spread to the Assassins, and the remaining members of the Brotherhood took me in. They made a terrible decision to appoint Ewan Allenbauch as the new Mentor to replace the recently-killed one, killed in the surprise attacks. Ewan decided to take me in as his own. Later I’d learn this was to support his own agenda._

_I started training when I was five. I could disassemble an entire gun and reassemble it before I could read a single sentence. It made my stand-in father happy, so I was happy. That’s all a kid wants, is to make their parents happy. So I kept making him happy. I followed all the rules. I passed all of his little tests. I believed he was the best leader we could have. Even after the attack on the Earp homestead. I only doubted him, back then, once. His idea of a tenth birthday present was to have me make my first kill. He tied them up and stuck a gun in my hands. They begged and begged and_ begged _for forgiveness, for mercy. The same way I somehow remembered, in that moment, my parents did. Ewan said he was one of the Templars from that night. I should’ve hated him. I should’ve pulled the trigger, fast and easy. But I couldn’t. I didn’t have the stomach for it. I was ten! He sobbed and begged all he could. Ewan yelled and threatened. I wanted to close my eyes, but Ewan told me to respect—_ respect _—my target by looking at them before I took their life away, and in general good eye contact means I’m showing respect and interest, and respect and interest was, apparently, most important._ “No cowardice allowed,” _he said. So I pulled the trigger and watched the last tears fall from the man’s eyes. Ewan said it was justice. I thought it was murder._

_Killing that man was enough to make me run away. But Ewan caught me, of course, because back then he was smarter. He didn’t say a word to me. He just worked me with chores and workouts, for days until he broke my spirit. He asked me,_ “Do you feel like leaving now, Nicole?” _and I loyally responded, with all the precious eye contact and respect and interest in the world,_ “No, Mentor.”

_I was a drone for years after that. I followed every order. I enforced every rule on any fellow free thinkers and silenced them when they responded with “everything is permitted”. It wasn’t in Ewan’s perfect vision, so it wasn’t permitted. Just be a drone and you’d survive. He corrupted Rosita, too, who used to be just like me, so we hit it off the first time we met._

_Someone I met as a kid resurfaced in my life. Shae Pressman. I ignored her when we were younger. I thought she was weird, honestly. She broke all the rules and got punished over and over, but never seemed to learn. She never changed. She was transferred elsewhere, so I forgot about her. She was the exact same as I remembered. They set Rosita’s training back because she’d been shot by the Templar’s Grand Master and head of BBD, Moody, on a mission, right through the knee. From then on she focused on biochemistry, so Shae, newly relocated, was my new partner. She read me so easy, the same second we met. She told me I took things too seriously. She correctly guessed I didn’t have the guts for this life. When I argued, she tried to get me to kill her. I couldn’t do it. Afterwards she told me,_ “The human life expectancy gets longer and longer. It’s at eighty now. What will you do for the next seventy years of your life?” _I couldn’t answer, because I never thought about my life like that. All I knew was my life belonged to Ewan’s Creed, and I was the drone who carried out orders. She leaned in close and whispered,_ “Pay attention to what’s in front of you, not around it.” _Then she walked off._

_I spent every second with Shae after that. We learned everything about each other. I told her I never left, only for missions and even then I was always monitored by Ewan. She called him a shadow. Over time I realized she was right, and how much I hated the Assassins. How much I hated Ewan. We dreamed of boring lives with boring nine-to-five jobs and a boring house with a boring family. She told me about the real world and tried to get me to sneak out to see a rescreening of a_ Star Wars _movie. But we were caught and punished so badly we decided against trying it again. It wasn’t the first time we tried to sneak out, but it was the last. We agreed the best time to make our escape would present itself to us, so all we did was wait._

_We waited for years, a decade, almost. Ewan was busy with the Willa crisis, which was only worsening, always using the worst techniques to try to spring her and rejecting every proposed plan of recruiting Wynonna, because Wynonna was also a rebel. Good on her for that. He used—You’re welcome. He used Rosita to try to straighten me out, given our friendship and close age. Teens only listen to teens. But as fast as I fell for Ewan’s bullshit, Shae fixed me back._

_The time came for a full-fledged assault on Black Badge. The American Assassins were losing their battle and merged with us, and every Canadian Brotherhood showed up to help. The few Brotherhoods around the world lost contact. Ewan was scared. So all hands on deck, because no way that could go wrong._

_Shae said this was our time, too. Ewan would be too busy. No one else would be babysitting us. We could sneak out, and be free. Finally,_ finally _, be free. We would make our own rules and lead our own lives. When the attack started, we were set. We broke into a small delivery van, built to look as discreet as possible, and luckily the men were dumb enough to leave the keys inside. She took out her busted up old CD player and put her dad’s favorite song on the car’s player. “Today I was An Evil One”. We kissed for the last time._

_Just as I put the car into drive, Rosita called for help, to me specifically, over the comms. She was shot in the shoulder, and with her knee she couldn’t make it out safely. Ewan told everybody to leave her behind, and all the others that were injured. I couldn’t leave her. Shae and I knew we couldn’t abandon this job, either, because Willa was innocent, too. This was above the Assassins; this was being a decent person and doing the right thing. Saving a life instead of doing nothing and letting it end. Shae jumped into the fight. I got Rosita to the roof. She lost her gauntlet and grapple line, but I had mine. I got her to safety and hotwired a car._

_Shae was heading to the roof as well, so I grappled back up there. I told Rosita where to meet later and sent her off. I helped Shae fight off Dolls, who chased her up. Over the comms, Ewan told everyone to go to the roof. Moody was trying to escape on his helicopter. Assassins and Templars poured in and had a bloodbath. We decided to leave, because Ewan said Willa was “taken care of”. I didn’t know what that meant at the time._

_I pushed Dolls off and Shae knocked him down. Well, Dolls must’ve been Moody’s favorite, because he started shooting at us. We ran for the van. I grappled down first, using another car as a steady weight. Shae was right behind me. I heard two bullets. The first one scraped my boot. The second one ended with a scream. I turned. It was Shae, falling to her death. Moody was at the edge of the rooftop, staring at me. I had a gun. I could’ve shot him. But I didn’t._

_I cut my line and landed safely. More bullets were going for me, so I hid behind a car. I sat there for a while. No one came after me, so I had just enough time to panic. Just like that, Shae was dead on the pavement. If I didn’t jump first, it would’ve been me._ God, _it should’ve been me. I forced myself into the van and drove. I didn’t know where I was going, but I couldn’t stay, no matter how badly I wanted to. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to her._

_Then I slammed on the brakes. Ewan ordered everyone to stand their ground on the roof. Yet there was was, retreating like the coward he was, into the woods surrounding. I ripped the keys from the ignition and sprinted after him. I ran and ran and ran. I pushed branches from my way. I screamed his name with all the fury in me. I let tears fall as I made my way to him. And I found him, running, scared. Alone. Pathetic. He tripped over a branch but when he saw me he looked relieved._ “Oh, it’s just you,” _he said. I told him Shae was dead. He said a lot of people were dead. Like it was nothing. Like they weren’t looking up to him as a leader. Like they weren’t close friends. Like they didn’t matter. He said Willa died, too, and called her weak. Moody could be a “consolation prize”. I kicked him._

_I remember everything so vividly after that._

_He asked me if I was crazy and fumbled over himself, still on the ground. I stepped closer. Right then, he realized what I was doing. Why I was there. And he got mad._ So _mad._

“I gave you everything, Nicole!” _he yelled. It wouldn’t work; he was just making an ass of himself._ “I took you in! I raised you, I fed you, I clothed you—this is how you repay me?”

_I wanted to tell him how wrong he was. He never cared about my best interests, just his own. He ruined my life. He was an abuser so desperately playing the victim. I said nothing. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a last conversation. He deserved to die a bumbling, rambling fool._

_I grabbed him by the collar and plunged the blade into his chest. He’d bleed out, slowly. He screwed his eyes shut and cursed. Begged for forgiveness. He used to tell me any man who begs and avoids staring the “justice of death” in the face was a coward. Right there, I believed it. But I thought I’d humor him and his senseless rules one more time. I leaned closer to him, a breath apart, and I told him:_ “Look at me when I kill you, Mentor.”

_His eyes flew open in a rage. He tried to fight back, but I was stronger. He lost, so all he could do was laugh._

“I should’ve known you would end up a royal fuck-up like your father.”

_I let go and let him fall to the ground. I stayed and watched. This was the only kill I wanted to see through._

“You were supposed to be the perfect Assassin. You were pure, free of any outside influence. You only understood our ideals. You were the walking embodiment of the Creed. ‘Work in the dark to serve the light’—that was your purpose. You would right all of our wrongs, and all of my wrongs. You would take over after me and destroy the Templar influence. You would raise a new generation of Assassins the likes of which we’ve never seen!”

_He laughed until he coughed up blood._

“You were supposed to be perfect. Now I see I would’ve found far less trouble if I left you in that orphanage. Congratulations, Nicole, you’re a failed experiment.”

_Of all the people I killed in my life, he wasn’t one I regretted. He wasn’t someone low-level like Jeremy, who was just there to work and not because they were all for an evil cause. He didn’t have a family to support. He didn’t have anyone who cared about him. There was no possibility he was innocent. He was selfish. He thought he was better than everyone else, and because he was leader he had a monopoly on every decision and idea. We were too late to save Willa because he was incompetent and found her much later than he would’ve if we worked together. Willa died because Lucado tried to pull her mid-session and she was too weak to wake up. Every single person I knew in my life died in that building. Shae died. Ewan wasn’t getting to outlive them._

_I caught up with Rosita after that. We agreed to meet by an abandoned warehouse just outside Purgatory. We saw it on the way to the BBD building. Something told me our headquarters wouldn’t be safe. Shae’s stupid song played when I started the van up again. I kept looking at the passenger seat. She was supposed to be with me. We were supposed to be starting over, together. It wasn’t right._

_Rosita surprised me. The first thing she did was try to go over new plans. What to do next. She was never one to just jump in like that, and I’d just told her Ewan was dead and it was just us. She insisted we had a job to finish. She was crazy, I thought, and even now I still kind of think so. Sorry. We fought, big surprise. She said this was bigger than us. I reminded her it was_ just _us and how little our chances were, and the fact her leg was all busted up and now she had a new shoulder wound. But she didn’t care. So I left. I wanted my life. Because somehow it would bring Shae back. I wasn’t staying still any longer. I had to keep moving. I had to leave the Assassins, because all I could do was think of her. I pawned the valuable contents of the van, like ammo from guns Rosita didn’t have and couldn’t get, and got what I needed to survive, left Rosita medical supplies, and drove. I kept going, until I couldn’t, and stopped at a roadhouse bar for the night. I picked some pockets and bought a few drinks. It wasn’t my first time, but_ damn _did it feel freeing._

_I heard rustling in the dumpster out back on the way out. In this line of work, I learned to investigate. Better to kill the thing than let it stalk you. It was a cat. She hissed at me, and she looked like she’d seen Hell twice. Her nails were overgrown, her hair was so matted you couldn’t see her face. She was probably riddled with diseases, too, but I greeted her. She looked ready to run, but she sniffed my fingers and relaxed. The second I ran my hand through her fur she went nuts on the purring. She had no collar, so I took her back to the van. We could start over together, I figured. I t—Yes, I got her shots updated. Don’t worry. I gambled for the money. Then picked more pockets when I lost. Anyway, I took her to the van and gave her a quick trim. Then I thought I might cut mine, too. New look for a new life. I named her “Calamity Jane” because of Shae. She said if she ever got a dog she’d name it that. Her dad and uncle were really into the old west. I figured a cat would have to do for the moment._

_I spent the night in the van. I thought of Rosita. I tried to ignore the fact I left her alone to pursue BBD, with_ two _serious injuries. I told myself I deserved to move on, and I didn’t owe anybody anything. If they found the rings, that was the world’s problem, not mine._

_I drove into town. Got money. I got Jane healthy, bought her some food, and bought myself breakfast. On the edge of town, by the Purgatory sign, I stopped and got out of the car to stare. The road was open and free. The possibilities were endless. Shae said we could pick up a few odd jobs, get new identities, and start over. The only hard part about that now would be doing it alone._

_But I couldn’t leave. Calamity Jane stole the keys and ran back over the line. For some reason, she wanted us to stay. Somehow she knew I was leaving, and leaving was a stupid choice._

_I couldn’t stay. No way. The Ghost River Triangle was the root of all my problems. It was Shae’s resting place. I didn’t need to think of that. I needed to move on and start over. But Jane wouldn’t listen. Any time I stepped for her, she stepped back. So I yelled at her, like she could understand,_ “I can’t stay here!” _She just stared at me, like she wasn’t satisfied with that. So I gave her more. I told her why. It was painful. Why would I run_ to _the pain? She still didn’t budge, so I laid in the grass. I stared at the sky. Purgatory’s sky was always so wide and beautiful. It was the one thing I liked._

_I thought about Rosita again. She said her grandfather was an astronaut. That sky was his_ workplace. _I thought it must’ve been lonely, being up there alone. But worth it, for the sake of humanity. Then I stopped myself. Because Rosita was alone. Looking out for humanity’s future. Continuing the work of everyone we lost because of Ewan’s stupidity. Taking on a role she in no way desired. We were the last of our kind, and I left her because she wasn’t important enough, apparently. Jane was sitting in front of me at that point, because she knew my mind was made. She dropped the keys. I drove back to the warehouse. Shae’s song was playing._

_The day after I rejoined, Jeremy contacted us. Rumors about Willa’s death and how she died and what she was even doing there were spreading, so he hacked the facility’s cameras and learned the truth. He spoke up about it, so they fired him. No free thinkers there, either. He stumbled across Ewan, rotting in the forest, on a shortcut to the bus stop about a mile off. He used Ewan’s comms to contact us, and in the same day he joined. At first I was suspicious, but then I realized Jeremy couldn’t tell a lie to save his life. What? It’s a compliment!_

_Seven days passed. We monitored BBD for any possible way to spring Wynonna, who was immediately forced into the Animus program. By this time Waverly came across Curtis’s old comms and contacted us. She remembered Purgatory’s old uranium mine and said she just knew something was calling her here. So we went, and when we got here, we were attacked by some kind of ghost cavalry. I couldn’t hit them, but they could hit me. They didn’t go away until Waverly went into the mine and removed the ring from Clootie’s finger. Another gut feeling, she said._

_The time came to save Wynonna. It never sounded easy, but we had to do it. Obviously, by then, they would’ve moved Shae’s body, but I still looked for her. Maybe a part of me hoped she was somehow alive. Getting Wynonna wasn’t the hard part. I almost managed to slip out unnoticed. Jeremy broke into the basement and flipped the power off. Stole the VR gear, too. Before he left, they were trying to replicate it for super soldier use. Getting out was a problem. Not because I’d been caught, but because I was on the roof, ready to grapple. I could hear that last, awful scream from Shae. I felt like if I turned around, Moody would’ve been there, ready to shoot me. If Dolls didn’t catch up to me so fast, I think I would’ve been stuck there, forever. He got a couple good scratches in, but I managed to escape with Wynonna. Once again without Shae, and something about that stung. Hence my renewed shitty mood._

_I was disappointed after that. For some reason I thought saving Wynonna meant instant game over for Black Badge. Really, it meant the fight was beginning. It was the_ real _battle now. A full-on battle with a new team. A new team I might grow close with. That was a problem. I didn’t want to get attached. I wanted to do the mission and leave. I didn’t want a new team. I didn’t want people to think about. Love was pain. I learned that, over and over. This was supposed to be for Rosita, that’s it. I think I might’ve left early, too, when things were looking up._

_Then I started growing closer to you guys. Working together on that dig site and that training session, watching Wynonna fumble around—sorry—was the most fun I had in those awful two weeks. It made me think everything might be okay. Then that_ mishap _happened and I was back at square one. I saw a lot of things I couldn’t have remembered before, like my parents dying, in full, like a movie. Every bad thing I tried to forget; Every bad thing I pushed out of my memory. It was a lot to take in. I was ready to run again. But no matter how badly I wanted to, I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave Rosita. I couldn’t leave you, Jeremy. I couldn’t leave you two Earps. If Wynonna didn’t call me selfish, I wouldn’t have realized it. I wouldn’t have realized how similar to Ewan I was being. He never owned up to his mistakes. He ignored them or pushed them off or tried to cover them up. I wasn’t ready to do that. That’s not who I was. Shae used to say I had a big heart. That wasn’t a big-hearted thing to do. She would’ve been disappointed in me. I wasn’t all for it at first, but I turned around. I wasn’t ready yet, so I waited where I could still be hidden but also keep you all safe. Mostly, I was trying to convince myself_ not _to stay; that the pain outweighed the good._

_Then Waverly showed up. She slowed me down, and I could think. I made my decision. I needed to stay. I needed to do the right thing. I needed to help, to save the world, because there were things worth saving. Like Rosita. Like Jeremy. Like you Earp girls. Nobody deserved to die like Shae did. I hated Ewan for so long, but Black Badge is the villain here. And we need to take them down. Together._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooaaaa what’s up with Waverly and the ring man
> 
> Next chapter is the last of the pre-written trio here, but that fourth one’s already getting done (and it’s gonna be loooong). In the meantime chapter ten features a quick trip into town, a Drunk Nicole, a bar fight, an angry Waverly, and a lil’ ol’ letter


	10. Ladies Night

_October 8, 2016_

For the past month now, it felt like Nicole was aching all over. Aching without treatment from medication or some trick from someone’s grandmother. She tried to ignore it and go on. The thing about aches is they demand their attention louder than any other feeling. When an infant is teething, it’s no secret. _Everybody_ knows. How foolish of her to ignore her pain, her aching, and try to will it away simply because it hurt. Of course it hurt—it was pain!

She stood on the the porch now, watching. Breathing, for once, with no ugly thoughts or aches to interrupt. She applied something to the pain. It wasn’t gone, but it was less. It had been acknowledged! It had been soothed in the form of trust in new comrades and now, standing on this porch, she felt a peace she hadn’t felt in a long time. It was a small taste, but it was a start. A good start.

The others were cleaning up after dinner inside. Still early in the evening, so maybe a movie would follow. Nicole stepped outside for some air. Waverly’s suggestion, after she gave a hug and thanks for telling such a difficult story. Nicole expected another emotional scene she’d run to escape from, but there was nothing. Just satisfaction. Acceptance. A readiness to move on.

Wynonna was next to her now, offering a beer. “Truce?” she asked, and Nicole accepted. Free beer. Why not?

“Truce,” Nicole agreed.

Wynonna popped the cap off for her. While handing it over she muttered, “You’d probably just steal it like you did with the others otherwise, though.”

Nicole laughed. “Well, I am a professional.”

They shared a drink, and Wynonna leaned with her over the bannister. A light flickered by the mine’s door, on and off without rhythm. Waverly and Jeremy fought about tonight’s movie again inside the mess hall.

“It is good to have you back,” Wynonna confessed. “Mostly because we’d actually die without you. Rosita took some of my blood to store for later—which, _ugh—_ and prepped me for field work.” A laugh. “Can you imagine me infiltrating a dig site successfully?”

“I was so close to clearing you. Please don’t change my mind.”

That prospect was far less scary. No offense to Rosita, but Wynonna felt more comfortable doing field work with Nicole. Not because of the limp, but because Rosita wasn’t known for her field work. The way she panicked during the first dig site was proof enough.

They drank some more. Took in the night air and its chill, worsening the closer winter approached. It was so quiet. Wynonna never liked that. Silence always made for trouble. Silence always left room for dangerous thoughts.

“Wanna get out of here?”

Nicole nearly choked on her beer and eyed her, strangely. “Easy, Earp, you’re not my type.”

Wynonna rolled her eyes. “No, dummy. Literally. I think we could both use the fresh air. We both went from one prison to the next, and now we’re both stuck in the middle of nowhere in a place you’d find in a horror movie. After the week we just had, let’s hit the town, Nicole!”

Nicole was still eyeing her strangely. “What, right now?”

“Yeah.” She stood fully, serious now. “We’re both pretty good at sneaking out. Honestly, we have a lot more in common than I thought. We’ll be back before anyone notices.”

An unconvinced look of disbelief now. “I’m sure _someone_ will notice. Two someones, actually.”

Wynonna made some kind of thinking face, twisting her lips and looking somewhere with one eye peeked open. “Fine. I have an idea.”

Her grand plot consisted of shoving pillows under Nicole’s blanket and leaving one of the showers running. Along the way she downed her beer and, somehow, Nicole’s, too. When they stopped at the showers, Nicole wasn’t entirely impressed. Whereas Wynonna thought herself a criminal mastermind. No wonder she’d been arrested so many, many times.

“That’s wasteful.” Nicole pointed out the shower’s endless stream. “I’ve been reading about climate change and all that stuff, you know.”

Wynonna nudged her. “Come on, field partner, don’t you trust me?”

Nicole crossed her arms. “I did not agree to that yet.”

Wynonna’s victory lap died. “Come on, Nicole.”

So serious. This wasn’t just about encroaching cabin fever, was it?

“Why do you want to go to town so bad? Don’t they hate you?”

Wynonna’s expression seemed to agree as she muttered, “Yes, they’re all a bunch of dumb hicks. I really need to get out of here, just for one night. I know you want to, too.”

Convincing, but still not quite.

“That’s not the only reason,” Nicole pressed on.

Wynonna sighed in defeat. Water pelted the stall next to them, unfazed by such trivial matters as human conversation. “Look, yesterday was Willa’s birthday. I want to go to her grave, alright? We had a memorial here, but it wasn’t the same. She’s not even in there, but I have to go. I haven’t gone in years, and I’m finally back in town.”

Well, shit. Nicole sighed. “Fine. Okay.”

“I will steal your van myself if I ha—Wait,” she dropped an accusing finger from Nicole’s confused face, “yes? Yes?” Perking up like a kid on holiday.

“Quickly.” Nicole indicated the shower and the steam rising out of it. “We’re wasting water.”

Wynonna looked on the stall, guilty. “Yeah, Waverly’s gonna kill us.” Other than the sneaking out part, of course.

-

Nicole considered, in the future, ditching the safety of hiding the car so far when Wynonna spent the walk over trying to convince her to use codenames for any and all jobs. She kept declining, but like an insurance salesman it only seemed to motivate Wynonna further.

But she made up for it in the car, just as Nicole was five steps from knocking her out. Shae’s song played. Wynonna listened all the way through. Said it wasn’t so bad. Nicole actually agreed. Something about listening to it now, after saying everything out loud, was better.

-

Even in the black of night, Nicole could see Purgatory’s cemetery was a nice place, nicer when Purgatory being such a small town was taken into account. It was an open space—with the greenest grass she’d ever seen—of recent and decades-old plots, flowers and cards and balloons left by loved ones. Church nearby. Nicole wondered where her parents were buried. Ewan suggested it was more probable they were cremated but didn’t seem to know himself despite knowing them personally. Did they get a service, or were they left behind and tossed out like Shae?

She stood patiently and understandably behind Wynonna, who was kneeling at a tombstone with two names engraved.

 

_TO THE MEMORY OF_

_WARD EARP_

_1966-2000_

_HIS DAUGHTER_

_WILLA EARP_

_1987-2000_

 

Ward got to rest peacefully while Willa’s corpse was defiled by Black Badge scientists. Assholes. Had they no humanity left? Experimenting with the living and the dead for personal gain!

Wynonna was caressing Willa’s name plate when Nicole peeped, “I’m sorry I missed the memorial. I’m sorry we were _minutes_ too late to save—” 

“Stop apologizing so much, Nicole.” Nicole happily shut up at that. There was an exhale. “But also thank you for going back. You literally gave up your life to help a total stranger. I’ll always appreciate that.” She found Nicole in the dark and smiled, wickedly. “I think you’ve always had a soft spot for us Earps.”

A couple weeks ago Nicole would’ve denied that statement, violently. Now she was thinking it was their fates, tied together. And maybe the universe didn’t hate her so much after all.

-

They didn’t head back just yet, though they both knew they should’ve. First thing they did was pick some flowers for Willa, then walked the town a bit. Nicole slipped in some “training”, because picking pockets was _definitely_ a skill Wynonna would need to defeat a dangerous, super-powered soldier. And the money _definitely_ wasn’t so they could sneak over to Shorty’s for a drink.

Shorty’s was always alive Saturday nights, like some college frat boys took over for the evening and threw the town’s biggest party. Which meant all the people that hated Wynonna and all the people Wynonna hated would be here. Didn’t think that part through. The moment the door opened, just like a movie, heads turned to find Wynonna Earp, town delinquent, walking in. She humored them and waved like a celebrity at a red carpet event. Some cursed. Some left.

“Tough crowd,” Nicole mumbled.

The owner, at the bar, was different. He was smiling. Not in a creepy, late-night bar way but in a friendly way. He said it was nice to see her, which was a hell of a contrast to the twisted faces around them. He even gave them shots on the house and left the bottle. When he walked off to attend to business matters Wynonna explained he was one of the few friends she had in Purgatory. Certainly believable.

And on the opposite spectrum of friends was the town Sheriff, Randy Nedley, walking over. Where Shorty was awake and relaxed, he was tired and no-nonsense. Nicole feared he might lecture her for slouching so she sat up.

“Wynonna Earp,” he greeted, no sense of actual greeting to his tone. More like a nonverbal threat to not cause trouble. Nicole checked to see her hidden blade was concealed under her hoodie sleeve. Just the right side’s basic blade; left hand’s gauntlet was too obvious and sat in the van.

Wynonna returned his received warning by tipping her shot glass and grinning, before downing the whole thing. _Try me, Nedley._ He took it like a pro and didn’t react. Externally.

“That sister of yours seemed to think you were missing,” was all he said. “She searched high and low. Believed it myself, but here you are. Where’d you head off to?”

Wynonna poured another shot, and raised it to Sheriff Nedley again. Like she was trying to make him mad. “I’m here now. That’s all that matters.” Downed the shot. “Anything else?”

“Just wanted to remind you, you have outstanding warrants. You and a spray can on Judge Cryderman’s house, for one.”

“Here to arrest me, Nedley?” Her eyes narrowed. “ ‘Cause it’d be a shame if a rabid spray can ate a kid.”

He shook his head, neither amused or unamused. “Stay out of trouble. I’ve had a long shift, and I’m not really in the mood for processing tonight.” He eyed that vodka bottle with caution. “Don’t do anything stupid, Wynonna.”

She raised her empty shot glass. “You’re a generous man, Randy Nedley!” Sarcastic, of course.

Anyone else would’ve rolled their eyes, but Nedley just looked to Nicole. She tried not to appear too alarmed, like he’d actually recognize her or something. Impossible, of course; she never left the old base.

“Who’s this?” he asked, and Nicole looked to Wynonna. Busy on a refill. Something about talking to law, not to mention the man in charge of Purgatory’s law, made Nicole nervous. She tried to bite it down.

“Nicole,” she answered simply. No, he needed more than that. “Wynonna’s travel buddy.”

Nedley nodded. Nicole followed his scanning eyes to her wrist. Left wrist fully exposed, eagle tattoo on display. The Assassins’ sigil was in the center of the ink, engraved in the flying eagle’s underside, small but big enough. She hoped none of her colleagues went around spreading propaganda graffiti in town. “Join the revolution!” or some shit. Because _wow_ would that be suspicious. She couldn’t exactly knock the town sheriff out in a crowded bar and make a break for it, either.

Her head nearly exploded the way Nedley’s expression so subtly twitched. He recognized something here, and the way he suddenly left might’ve been pause for concern.

“He didn’t make a beat on you,” Wynonna promised. Still not looking. Not bad observational skills. Nicole tried to relax.

“How can you be sure?” Nicole looked around, being sure for herself Nedley wasn’t watching them right now.

“Assassins are supposed to be secretive. He _couldn’t_ recognize you or that tat, right?”

Nicole shrugged. “I don’t know what those idiots used to do in Purgatory.”

Wynonna deadpanned. “Oh, great.” She downed another shot. No signs of intoxication. Her poor, seasoned liver. “That is nice ink, though. Where’d you get it, and can I _please_ get one? Like a killer dragon burning some stupid village town?” Her eyes lit up. “It is an initiation ceremony thing?”

“No.” Nicole downed a shot for herself. Paused to feel the burn tide over. “I’m not really sure where it came from, but we had a bunch of tools. A bunch of great artists, too, Rosita included.”

Wynonna snorted. “Miss Rule Book has tattoos?”

“Yep,” Nicole said, almost proud. “She has wolves howling at a moon on her back.”

Wynonna’s eyes went wide in disbelief. Nicole grinned wider.

“Rosita used to be a total badass. Laid back, too, and dare I say more sarcastic than _you_. Until recent events screwed with her anxiety.”

That made sense. It was two against two hundred, when they started. Not that the current total of _five_ versus two hundred was any less worrisome.

Wynonna pursed her lips. “That’s actually kind of cool. I kind of want that exact thing now.”

Nicole nodded, agreeing. “She did this little eagle, and the huge phoenix on my back.”

“Phoenix!” Eyes wide again.

“Fight clubs were a thing, too.” She bowed her head, humbly. “Champion, three years running.”

Wynonna exhaled, impressed. “That’s kinda hardcore, dude. Man, if we went to high school together, we could’ve bashed some bullyin’ skulls in.”

Nicole raised her eyebrow. “You were bullied?” That triggered another shot.

“I was the crazy girl who shot her dad and saw people in cloaks who could show up and disappear at the blink of an eye. It’s a small town, Nicole. Small-minded, all of them, with nothing better to do or talk about.”

Funny. The smallness of the Assassins seemed to be the root of their inclusivity. No racists, no homophobes, no bullies. A few loudmouths with “different” opinions, but never specific prejudices. Classy hate; hating someone because they were a terrible person.

“People sort of believed me after a couple members of the Seven turned up. One of them was the Jack of Knives’s descendant, by the way. Real grudge-holding family, apparently.”

“Apparently,” Nicole agreed.

“Whatever, though. Can’t take it back and can’t change it, right?” Another shot.

Nicole nodded. It was a lesson she learned to accept just this week.

“What?”

Nicole looked bugged. Tapped on her empty glass, which Wynonna promptly refilled, and looked at her on and off, clearly thinking something over. She sighed and took the shot, then leaned a little closer, to keep words between them only.

“You cannot tell Rosita this.”

She waited for a promise, so Wynonna nodded.

“I saw the members of the Seven who aren’t dead or jailed at that bar. I’ve been trying to look into it, because I know they’re still with Black Badge. There’s a chance they’re looking for us.”

Wynonna didn’t know how to take that. For now she decided not to react at all. “Well, I—we can’t have another group looking for us, right?”

“Uh huh. As funny as it would be to see someone else beat Dolls to the punch. They’re also suspected of murder, theft—bad things.”

Wynonna was grinning, evil. “Then I guess it’s our civic duty to get them arrested.”

Considering how badly they screwed up her life and her family, it was the least she could do. Nicole seemed to agree.

“Sure,” she smiled in response. “We’ll—”

“Come here often, Red?”

Some dude was next to Nicole, stinking of heavy drink and heavy stupidity. Judging from his face and his confident smile (if that’s what he was trying to do), he was a total knob. Nicole had never felt the wave of repulsion she felt in this moment.

“Nope,” she was kind enough to answer, “I have a life.”

Wynonna was rolling her eyes at the man. “Back off, you miserable excuse for a rodeo clown.” She looked to Nicole. “This two-inch dildo is Champ Hardy, Waverly’s ex. Rightfully.”

“Waverly’s a bitch,” he slurred slightly, and both women were ready to kick him to the moon. Or maybe the sun; the moon didn’t deserve that. “She’ll never find a man as good as me.” He stumbled back on dizzy feet when he gestured to himself.

“I sincerely hope not,” Wynonna said before Nicole could.

Nicole watched them bicker back and forth, mostly about how Waverly getting with him in the first place was a classic case of “misplaced sympathy”. Some other personal details Nicole couldn’t keep up with followed. Didn’t matter. She had a plot of her own. She grabbed one of the sleep darts stuffed deep in her pants pocket and poured its contents into an empty shot glass. Mixed in the vodka. Turned to Champ as he assured he _totally_ met some celebrity on his trip to LA a couple years before.

“Hey,” Nicole shoved the shot into his grip, “let’s take it easy. No hard feelings, right?”

The drunken fool gave a drunken smile and downed the thing before he could piece together the fact it wasn’t clear. “You should be more like your friend, Wynonna.” Then he was off to flirt with the next girl he could.

Wynonna tried to relax in her seat. “Please tell me you spiked that.”

Nicole just smiled. “Just watch.”

Watch she did. Champ used some opening line that clearly did not land. He tried to smooth it over, but not before slurring his words further and collapsing completely over. The girl just scoffed and walked away.

-

_October 9, 2016_

“Jesus, you’re a lightweight.”

They held back at Shorty’s until closing. Nicole heard some stories about just how obnoxious teenage Wynonna was, and how incredibly sweet Waverly was. Some things never change. All drinks were on the house, and given current financials neither protested for the sake of chivalry. But then, the team _did_ have two pickpockets now.

Midnight rolled by, Shorty’s closed. Farewells were bid, Wynonna trying not to sound like they might be crossing paths for the last time. It wasn’t until they reached the van she noticed how drunk Nicole was. Which meant the roadhouse idea might have to be a solo job. It was probably a terrible idea, but she drove them there anyhow.

Nicole had apparently forgotten how to sit. One of her legs was on top of the dash and she was completely slumped down in her seat, practically on the floor. If the airbag went off she’d experience the world’s cruelest yoga pose.

“I’m ‘peanchy’,” Nicole laughed. Then she frowned. “Peanchy. I’m-I’m peanchy!”

“ _Peachy,_ ” Wynonna corrected. “Yeah, sure.”

Nicole tugged on her hoodie’s strings. “Just don’ scratch up my van.” Her eyes went wide. “I _love_ my van.”

“ _Wow_ , you’re a lesbian.”

They made it to the twenty-four hour roadhouse in one piece. Nicole proudly dragged Wynonna to the back to show her the dumpster she found Calamity Jane in, and went on a lengthy emotional speech about how great that cat was. Most of it was slurred gibberish. Wynonna hoped there weren’t any other strays, because _damn_ was Jane a handful on her own. Weren’t cats supposed to be the easy pets?

They entered without a fuss and sat at the bar, heads low and presence low. Ordered a couple more drinks. Wynonna scouted and referred to herself and Nicole as “Tiger” and “Phoenix”. Even Drunk Nicole wasn’t on board with codenames. Alternatively: even Drunk Nicole was boring.

Wynonna wasn’t really sure what to do here. Call the cops? And report what, a group hangout at a bar? The real crime here was the smell. She put the pieces together, the information combined from her knowledge and Nicole’s. The Jack of Knives’s equally pathetic descendant committed similar crimes with or without BBD and died horribly, too. One of his victims stabbed him twenty times, one for each life he took. Mad respect. August Hamilton left to pursue the exciting life of hairstyling. He intentionally slit someone’s throat and ended up in jail. Old habits are hard to shake, after all. Malcom Ramaker was stabbed through the eye in a bar fight and died. The one called Marty joined a new crew and got arrested for drug smuggling. That left “Red”, Jim “Killer” Miller, and Hetty Tate, as well as new member and Hetty’s brother, Herman. That was four on two. Not totally the Seven, but they were walking free and having a nice night at a bar and Wynonna was bent on ruining it. Payback’s a bitch, and she was it.

She had less than a quarter of a plan before Red recognized her and started the beef she wanted to start. Chairs flew. Bottles were lost. Nicole downed two more shots before throwing both glasses at Red as he sprinted over. Some idiot patron yelled “Yeah, bar fight!” and invited everyone to the showdown as a result. Damn it, people! Not the epic standoff Wynonna wanted. But, hell, it’d have to do. She gave Nicole a look, and silently they picked up on each other’s scheme. Nicole went left, Wynonna went right.

Nicole immediately sobered up, weaving through flying fists from unwanted guests and skillfully smashed a chair over Killer Miller’s taller head. She grabbed Red’s fist as it threatened to collide against her jaw and bent his entire arm before sending him stumbling over Miller. Finally making a fool of someone other than Wynonna.

Wynonna grabbed the first bottle in sight and used it to slap Herman. His stetson flew right off his head and he fell over some other, uninvited brawler. Down for the count, looked like. Hetty took revenge for her brother and punched Wynonna in the gut. She coughed out ironic praise before returning the favor, and in return Hetty exchanged praise, too.

Across the way Nicole indulged in the Purgatory bar brawl fashion and had a drink when she ended up at the bar again. Miller came running from nowhere, but stopped when she offered a false truce with a bottle. Before kicking his lights out. Red cropped up with a switchblade after that, so she wasted good bourbon and doused him. He yelled something about how long it took his hair (he was balding) to look so great today (absolutely no hair) and Nicole took the chance to knock him out, too. Must’ve been scarier in his prime.

No trouble with Hetty, either. Wynonna had her in the messiest of chokeholds, but the _professional soldier_ couldn’t break free. She even had time to argue with “Wyatt” when he appeared to her again. He bragged about his own hand-to-hand skills, because, apparently, what better time, and offered some advice. Hetty thought Wynonna crazy as she argued with absolutely no one. The crowd had poured away from where they were, to cheer Nicole as she took on some other rando. When in Purgatory, right?

Wyatt was calling Wynonna dishonorable as she gave Hetty a Wet Willie for killing her sister. Police sirens sounded outside. The whole bar froze.

-

It was well past midnight and Waverly was set to _kill._

For some reason she thought nothing of the wasteful, running water when she went to take a shower. Her sister was the forgetful type. And, foolishly, she believed Wynonna and Nicole went to the mine to turn in for the night to talk or something. Then she realized Nicole’s “body” didn’t have feet and found the old pillow trick yet again. She was well into town when Wynonna called for bail. Didn’t need it, though. Apparently Nicole forgot she put a tracker on Peacemaker long ago and told Rosita about it. Waverly and Jeremy were already driving into town by the time Waverly’s phone rang. Wynonna made peace with the universe, because little sister was going to _kill_ her. The first thing Waverly did when she saw her at the station was mime slitting her throat.

Nedley called Waverly to his personal office. She had flashbacks of defending her sister from school principals in the past. Despite being six years younger. And not yet a student at said school.

“Sheriff,” she recited from that old script, “I am so, deeply, sincerely—”

“I’m cutting Wynonna some slack,” he stopped, and Waverly feared she might’ve been drugged. “Her friend, too; those two helped us take in four suspected criminals. They’ll be tried for attacking your family, soon.”

Waverly’s fury fizzled out. Wynonna took on the Seven? They were still _in_ Purgatory? Might’ve been for the best, then. Nedley stopped her again when she tried to thank him. He didn’t say anything, just slid over some folder. There were two arrest records inside, one for Michelle and the man she was arrested with, along with files further regarding the mystery man and an unopened envelope.

“I know who Nicole is.” Before Waverly could panic or lie he added, “I’m not getting involved. Because I know you and Wynonna are working with her, and frankly I trust your judgment. Your mother’s, too.”

Waverly’s brow furrowed. “My mother?”

“She was trying to mail something before she died, but I kept it. I never opened it, and she never really specified who it was for. I figured Ward and thought it best to keep under wraps. But that’s no excuse, I should’ve handed it over.”

“Any ideas what it says?” Waverly examined it, envelope blank and bare.

“No clue. But I do know that symbol on your friend’s tattoo was in her cell when she died. Her accomplice had it tattooed on himself, too.”

“Who was he?”

Nedley just pointed at the folder, and stood to leave. “Read it with Wynonna.” He paused by the door. “You two be safe.”

Waverly’s fingers skirted over the folder.

-

The second Waverly saw Wynonna and Nicole walking freely to her, her curiosity for the mystery folder died and she felt a building rage. “You’re in trouble,” she told Wynonna. She noted Nicole’s very un-sober stature and glared at her, too. “And you’re drunk!”

Nicole shook her head. “I’m not ‘Drunk’, I’m Nicole!”

The two sneaky, bar fighting fools were lectured swiftly on return to the mine. But neither of them cared. In fact, they looked quite pleased with themselves.

-

That “pleased” feeling expired into pure agony come morning. The first thing Nicole did was force Calamity Jane from where she slept on top of her face. _Die, you traitorous human._ The cat’s responding meows were amplified with a probable intent of revenge-death as well, and Nicole hit her with a pillow to spare her pounding head.

The mess hall was the same. The folder, unopened, sat silently in a battle of some movie soundtrack versus Donna Summer. When Nicole begged her peers to turn it down, Waverly raised the volume. Said she deserved it for sneaking off.

In the kitchen, Wynonna was face-down on the floor, groaning in misery. Nicole didn’t recall her actually getting drunk, or maybe she wasn’t so obvious about it. Or maybe Nicole was too drunk herself to notice. She looked like pure death when she asked Nicole, “Would it be possible for me to, say, kill Waverly?”

They scurried on outside after that, and for once the unsettling quiet was Wynonna’s hero. This was the last time she got on Waverly’s bad side. So much rage in such a tiny body. Nicole stopped them on the Porch of Feelings and Dramatic Conversations and presented a list. Four names scribbled on it matching last night’s defeated opponents.

“Our Brotherhood’s tradition,” Nicole explained, “was crossing a target’s name off a list after they were dealt with. It’s dumb, but it _is_ tradition.”

Wynonna took the pen she was offering. Surprising; Nicole wasn’t sure she’d play along. “Can’t break tradition, right?” Wynonna muttered. She smiled at the paper, even tearing up a bit.

 

~~_Hetty Tate_ ~~

~~_Herman Tate_ ~~

~~_Red_ ~~

~~_Killer Miller_ ~~

 

Was never really sure of Red’s real name or Marty’s last name. Wynonna added the others and crossed them off, too. She felt the curse of that night’s tragedy dissipate from her. All the bad things she did as teen to fit the grief she felt. The vandalism, the thefts, the drugs—all of it.

This was acceptance.

Nicole lit the list on fire and threw it over the porch onto the snow below. The names, forgotten. The people, forgotten. Their deeds, forgotten. Wynonna was also piecing together the names scribbled the van wall. Crossed out, forgotten the same. One taken by mistake, one taken rightfully. She compared this to Willa and Ward.

The sound of something unbuckling interrupted Wynonna’s thoughts. Nicole was removing her basic blade from her right wrist. Wynonna felt she should stop her. _That’s not flammable!_

But she didn’t light it on fire. She handed it over. “Since you’re stuck here,” she pointed out, “you should be able to protect yourself.”

Wynonna pointed to her gun. _Already taken care of_ —didn’t need to be said. Nicole insisted anyhow.

“It’s tradition?” she tried. Nope, not buying that. Even if it was. “Early Thanksgiving present? Look, I know you’re a fighter with a capable motor mouth, but I’d really feel better if you had it. Just in case. The next time _we_ go into the field, I want to make sure you’ll be safe.”

She graciously accepted at that. Finally, she’d get to do some real helping and stick it to Black Badge personally.

“It’s been kind of a constant in my life,” Nicole added, “so I hope it’ll help you out, too.”

Wynonna strapped the thing onto her wrist (and hoped Nicole wasn’t the sweaty type) with some kind of pride to her. Not Assassins pride. Pride in her newfound friendship and newfound trust. She flexed her forearm twice to trigger the small button inside and let the tool slide open and then closed. _Nice._

“I’ll teach you how to use it later.” Nicole walked off for the mine. “For now I’m going to curl into a ball and die.”

-

The days passed on. The team celebrated Thanksgiving together, like some sort of highly dysfunctional family. There were no more episodes from Wynonna, other than occasionally seeing “Wyatt” during training sessions, namely VR shooting. She was encouraged to listen, because her scores were actually massively improving. If she wasn’t reacting negatively to the Bleeding Effect anymore, might as well take it for what it’s worth. Apply some classic gunslinger skills to their fight. Nothing wrong with the classics, after all.

Wynonna and Nicole were getting along like lifelong friends, revisiting the normal childhoods they didn’t have. Platonic soul mates, Jeremy called it. Annoying, Waverly called it. The fact they were getting along was great. The fact they were both _children_ was not.

It was harmless at first. Just the training sessions and some gaming to pass the time, as if Black Badge wasn’t just around the corner. Then it moved to Wynonna learning to climb and jumping over random things and yelling “Parkour!” at every given opportunity. Then Wynonna resurrected old childhood pranks with Nicole as her partner in crime. And recently— _God save them all_ —Wynonna introduced Nicole to Vine. So now they were running around telling terrible jokes even Jeremy didn’t laugh at. In a word, they were _annoying._

Towards the end of the week-long hiatus, Wynonna entered the Animus for a test run on her psychosis. A short set of memories were added to Sequence 4, following the aftermath of Wyatt’s run-in with the Jack of Knives. Something about watching Wyatt work through his own traumas really seemed to help Wynonna. Her vitals were all good. For good measure, and at her request, they added on Sequence 5. Nothing major, just Wyatt chasing a stagecoach robber and getting a free drink from the grateful victim. He also deputized a few willing citizens to replace old west Purgatory’s dead law. Still smooth sailing on Wynonna’s end. She was officially set to resume searching the Animus and continue their mission on the regular schedule.

-

_October 13, 2016_

Waverly desperately wanted to steal Wynonna’s apparent cheerful mood. She’d gotten her Animus confidence back, thanks to easy Sequence 5’s little chase and 4’s positive vibes. No serial killers or graphic, gore-y, stomach-turning images and bad deals gone horribly, horribly, _badder._ Waverly wanted to be excited about getting back on track, too, but there was still the matter of that folder. Taunting her for days now. Wynonna, who now felt guilty for acting hostile towards Nedley instead of thanking the man for hiding Peacemaker for them, told her not to open it until she was ready. Thing is, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready. Whatever their mother wrote, whatever lay in this folder, she couldn’t unsee or unlearn.

She ripped the envelope open and read Michelle’s letter from between her fingers. 

What they learned was up for team discussion.

For starters, Waverly wasn’t adopted, just not an Earp. Michelle was still her mother. Her father was the one with a loaded name here. He was an Assassin stationed in Purgatory. Records of Mentor Dickenson’s Brotherhood and Juan Carlo’s were gone, but they knew there was something here. Black Badge seemed to think so too and would beat them to the punch. Waverly’s father found the Widows’ rings, and found, strangely, they didn’t appear to have any power left. It was Michelle’s idea to bury them instead of hand them over to the Assassins. She feared, if they did manage to turn the power back on, power-hungry Ewan Allenbauch would do something stupid. She mentioned she considered numerous times taking that girl he was raising from him. She helped make fake rings and planted them around the Ghost River Triangle in places that seemed likely for them to be hidden away.

Waverly’s father met Michelle at the former County Line Saloon. He was the only man who wasn’t ever a complete turd. He came back to see her often, sometimes blowing off jobs and contracts to do so. They had Waverly but he encouraged her to stay with Ward and his stability, drunken shit or not. Because one day he would be dead. Just the nature of the job.

Michelle joined, unofficially, and helped him wherever she could and wherever he’d let her. So of course he trusted her judgment on Ewan. Of course he made false rings and hid the real ones where they used to sneak off to: the Gibson Greenhouse. A bonus was she could keep the Assassins and Templars from looking into her family. Ward could go to Hell, but she still had two girls she cared about. She would’ve taken them far away, if she could’ve.

The plan was solid. Until, foolishly, they left the map they made in plain sight. Ewan saw and decided to take “justice” into his own hands. Because, like Nicole, Ewan lost his family to Templars. He _would_ kill them, all of them, and he didn’t care how. Even if it meant leading police to an active contract, an act that threatened to expose the Assassins, and getting both Waverly’s father and mother arrested. Confronting them in their prison cells and killing them both for “betraying” the Brotherhood. The last few lines were written in blood, with the Assassins’ symbol signed.

It was assumed Black Badge learned of the dig sites by Ewan’s doing. Nicole said he was the “villain monologue” type. A couple days ago, they re-opened their efforts. Years ago they picked the homestead clean (except for under the porch, where Peacemaker was), as well as the vacant Gibson property. Killing Curtis and Gus, luckily, wasn’t deemed necessary. Not at first. Curtis was only interested in finding Willa, not the powered artifacts nonsense. He didn’t believe it, frankly. They only stepped in to kill him because he knew what happened on the day of the attack for Willa’s freedom and would probably go to the authorities. No expressed interest in Gus. Killing her might actually cause more problems. The most they did was keep the ranch bugged. Unlike the Earp homestead, unlike the Gibson greenhouse, where soldiers were stationed now, on the small chance the Earps would go here at any time for any reason. This became a thing after the Black Badge employee fiasco at the homestead, at the time Nicole and Waverly went for Peacemaker. It was reported Peacemaker was retrieved _and_ they missed the chance to eradicate the remaining Assassins, so now they weren’t taking any chances.

It was a unanimous vote: they needed to go to the greenhouse. They’d have three of four rings in the can. Wynonna could keep going in the Animus for the long-missing eternal longevity ring, and Black Badge would continue looking for nothing.

So, later that night, Jeremy drove Nicole and Wynonna back to Purgatory. Victory was on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all I’m so excited the next chapter’s my favorite one I’ve been dyyyiinng to get it done and so far I love it. We're also very near a huge turn in our heroes' journey, AKA my favorite part of this whole dang tale. Next chapter is gonna be long and features a whole lotta Wayhaught, a slow dance, a boat, everybody's favorite Gardner, a totally not date, Hayley Kiyoko because yes, more terrible jokes, and a glimpse into what Dolls has been putting up with. I also feel I should mention Dolls's role is about to finally become more significant, and Doc will be here soon, but still not for quite a few chapters.
> 
> Shout out to Nicole’s van
> 
> No one asked but I finished Red Dead 2 and hhhhnnnNNNNN
> 
> Next time we meet it'll be a whole new year. Hope y'all have a fantastic, safe holiday, and thank you so, so much for giving this thing a read :)


	11. Parties on Boats, Springs in Steps

_October 13, 2016_

The Gibson greenhouse, in its prime, was a Purgatory treasure. Of all Purgatory’s long-standing families, the Gibsons were here the shortest length of time. A couple decades short of a century. Their family was one of Purgatory’s best livestock handlers, until an awful storm hit the land and left animals dead or long gone. Michelle Gibson left as a young adult to tour rodeo shows, and Gus Gibson stayed, too stubborn to go anywhere else. Their parents passed young. Gus invested in the local bar, and married Curtis McCready and shared his land, which, now with his passing, she tends herself. Michelle’s circuit led her to a short visit home, which, not according to plan, left her getting pregnant and marrying Ward Earp more out of fear of the future than anything else. With Michelle’s death and Gus’s now long-time home at the McCready ranch, the Gibson greenhouse and its land was a lost relic.

So seeing Black Badge goons patrolling the place was a bit unbelievable.

Jeremy parked Nicole and Wynonna far enough for him to access cameras and drones on the site. Rosita gave a mission briefing that was more scold than information.

“If you two fools hadn’t gone into town, we wouldn’t need to worry about them,” she went.

Nicole rubbed at her neck, guilty. Wynonna fiddled with Peacemaker’s cylinder as she shoved bullets in. Finally, she’d get to use the thing.

“But because you did, Black Badge heard about the roadhouse incident and decided to search town again. They sent drones over the McCready ranch, and boots to the Earp homestead and Gibson greenhouse. On the off-chance we were hiding there.”

“That’s awfully thorough,” Wynonna commented. She flicked open her hidden blade then closed it, twice. Nicole smacked her arm to stop her.

Rosita continued, “You should know Dolls is here.”

Wynonna smacked Nicole’s arm in revenge. “Yeah, and I bet he’s none too happy we’ve given him the slip, what, seven times now?”

“Where is he right now?” Nicole asked. Suddenly her side ached. She double checked all her gear, readjusted her darts bandolier. Stupid thing never fit her shoulder right.

“Farm or greenhouse,” Jeremy guessed. “I haven’t found him yet.”

Rosita’s line crackled again. “Wait, shit, Wynonna’s identity needs to be concealed.”

Nicole was set to disagree, but she thought of Purgatory’s law. If the worst case scenario happened and the cops showed up, saw Wynonna, and identified her, Nedley would probably try to protect her, but some things were above one man. Like a wanted criminal sneaking onto a cross-border federal agency’s crime scene and messing with “evidence”. The simplicity of their uniform’s dumb hood could spell the difference, so Nicole grabbed a hoodie from the van’s shelf and tossed it over. Wynonna didn’t fuss. She’d been waiting for this, for action movie spy drama field work, for the chance to do real damage in person.

Though she did comment, “It smells like beer. Nice.”

The pair exited and let Jeremy drive to a place more secluded for a giant, suspicious van. The letter didn’t explicitly specify where to find a pair of magical rings capable of god knows what, perhaps rightfully, but both Earps seemed to think the actual greenhouse would be a good start. Michelle said they ran here to meet in private. Forbidden romance aesthetic called for a greenhouse with wilted up old followers to symbolize blossoming love or some such nonsense.

On the way over, entering from the lazily-watched rear, Wynonna picked cat hair off her borrowed garment and cursed Nicole. Stupid affectionate ball of fuzz. But she was thankful for the little demon, because without her “talking” sense into NIcole, she wouldn’t be in a position to complain at all, or helping Wynonna break into her mother’s abandoned old home to steal, for that matter. She never would’ve taken Calamity Jane for a moral guru. Wynonna compared her purpose to Peacemaker. She kept the gun to remind her to do good. Jane’s presence seemed to do the same for Nicole. No wonder people liked pets so much.

The greenhouse was still a ways off, just a dozen or so skips, hops, rerouting when a guard popped out of nowhere, and sprints between patrol blindspots. So Wynonna used the opportunity to offer what she’d forgotten to say on the long ride.

“Hey, I’ll try not to use Peacemaker. Well, near you, anyway.”

“I think it’s cool of you to use it at all,” Nicole admitted, hushed. She stopped their pace to check no one was nearby. All clear. They turned the corner of a barn and kept crouch-running onward. “If it were me, I’d resent the stupid thing. It’s actually really mature of you.”

If not for the field of soldiers, Wynonna would’ve burst into laughter. “You sure you’re using that word right? The only reason I’m using it’s because I don’t have a lifetime to turn into a Hollywood, Bruce Lee martial artist and develop superhuman knife-throwing skills. As cool as that second part would be.”

Nicole winked. Wynonna rolled her eyes.

“I’ll try to keep things non-lethal, though. Really, I will.”

Nicole appreciated that. What an awfully thoughtful field partner Wynonna was shaping into, four whole minutes in. “Thanks, but you should do whatever’s necessary in the moment.”

Translation: _shoot_ if you’re outnumbered, not punch. Wynonna nodded in realization.

“Right. Chosen One.”

They were quiet the rest of the way. Closer now. Jeremy helped guide, as did Rosita and Waverly from the mine with the cameras on Nicole and Wynonna’s shoulders. Outside the greenhouse’s rear, the pair ducked under the windows and stopped by the door. Nicole confirmed Dolls was inside, possibly unhappier than usual. The difficulty suddenly raised. Jeremy told them to stand by for a distraction. The idea was to draw people away, knock any indoor stragglers out, poke around quick, get impossible magic rings, get away scot-free. Doable. Totally, completely doable.

Nicole whispered to Wynonna to be mindful of her hidden blade. Wynonna whispered back, unhappy with receiving such a simple reminder, “Sure. I’d hate to chop a finger off.”

Nicole shrugged, “It’s happened before. In the olden days it was tradition, actually.”

Wynonna looked flabbergasted. “What kinda operation—”

“Just stay close and be careful, you’ll be fine. We’re a team here, alright? No funny business.”

Wynonna saluted. “Aye-aye, Agent Phoenix, Agent Whiskey Lovin’ on your six.”

Nicole lowered her head from where she peeked into the window. “God, we’re gonna die.”

“Have some faith, Rayleigh.” She shoved Nicole’s arm.

“God, we’re _Rayleigh_ gonna die.”

-

Jeremy managed to take over a drone and crashed it through the farmhouse’s roof. Nicole waited, eyes stuck on the fogged up window. Someone asked what was wrong with Purgatory’s birds. A few ignored it. Nicole’s focus was on Dolls. Pistol drawn, head on a swivel. He sent people to search. He waited outside the greenhouse, but didn’t move after a couple steps out the doorway. It would have to do. Wouldn’t be long before they’d shuffle back in and forget the whole thing. If this was a video game the little meter on top of their heads was ticking down, fast. Jeremy bought them more time by hacking another drone and using its mic to blurt out phrases just obnoxious enough to steal everybody’s attention.

“ _YOUR THANKSGIVING DINNER WAS A SHAME TO EVERYTHING THIS COUNTRY STANDS FOR. THE STUFFING WAS DOWNRIGHT INSULTING!”_

Dolls’s gun lowered in confusion. Both Wynonna and Nicole stifled a laugh.

Nicole instructed Wynonna to open the door first. She’d rush in and sleep dart anyone she could, maybe hit a few outside with hallucinogens and spark up more confusion. Secretly, she hoped to get to use the new spikes.

Just one problem.

The door creaked when Wynonna tugged it open.

Loudly.

Dolls and his bat ears rushed inside fast enough to see them. He called backup and tried to threaten them to surrender, but Jeremy attempted to cover it up with:

_“THE VEGAN OPTION WAS CARDBOARD WITH LETTUCE! LITERALLY! ZERO STARS!”_

Didn’t work. Boots entered anyhow, and agents Phoenix and Whiskey Lovin’ were held at multiple gun’s points. The way Dolls was eyeing her, Nicole was sure he was going to shoot.

“Hands up, Assassin. You too, Earp.”

Nicole complied, reluctantly. Wynonna did too, scoffing, “Rude of you to assume I have hands.”

Dolls ignored her. The drone spouted more silliness. Someone flat out shot it down, and the team heard Jeremy curse in their ears.

“Don’t try anything,” Dolls warned. “Evans, Miller, cuff them.”

Wynonna suddenly stepped in front of Nicole.  The motion caused guns to cock, but all she did was roll her eyes.

“ _Look_ ,” Wynonna said, and Nicole took her emphasis as code to inspect for notable search areas, “I know you’re not gonna shoot. I’m the last descendant of Wyatt Earp. And if you shoot my friend—” she indicated Peacemaker, holstered— “I’ll be so devastated I’ll feel the need to join her. Eat your heart out, Romeo and Juliet!”

Nicole had a whole list down. Her shoulder camera was blocked out by Wynonna, but extra voices helping in her ear might be for worse right now. More distracting than helpful.

With perfect timing, Wynonna shoved both Evans and Miller when they approached, and Nicole dropped a smoke bomb before hurling two spikes across the room, both for Dolls. He swiftly dodged right at the last second, in time to hear the tools whizz right past him. Nicole and Wynonna silently agreed to split up for the time being and Dolls gave a no-kill order as a brawl broke out.

On the greenhouse’s right Nicole dodged punches and kicks of professional grade with her own professional-grade level. She slipped in painful stabs to innocent points, sleep darts, and the new spikes, all while turning over heavy stone fountains and looking under the tables holding up smaller plants. The spikes’ built-in fear toxins released, kicked in, and made still-standing opponents visibly nervous, and therefore easier to take out. Not a bad find, the tool.

Wynonna wasn’t having such a time. Dolls was primarily after her, other soldiers unwilling to get in the way of the boss. Their super soldier boss. She did everything possible to get him off her back, namely tossing pots and dead plants at him, and for the most part he dodged them. But eventually he managed to break through her master defense initiative and shoved her into a solid statue carved to resemble an angel. Solid and fragile, given the way it shattered at the hip and pinned Wynonna on the ground. Thing wasn’t light.

And it needed to be.

A box was left where the statue’s hallowed legs toppled over. Wynonna’s eyes widened, and Dolls immediately took this as a sign of action. Luckily she managed to shove him over a table and on his back before she’d fallen, in a need of revenge. She couldn’t get Peacemaker from her hip. Damned statue. Nicole was close enough nearby.

“Ni—”  Were they allowed to use names? “Phoenix!”

At another time, Nicole would’ve cursed herself for answering to that. For now she sprinted over, fully faithful in her partner, and dove for the box Wynonna was desperately indicating with the hand that wasn’t desperately trying to lift the statue off. If only Dolls hadn’t grabbed it first. All she got was a face full of debris.

This time, when Dolls and his surrounding, panting men pulled guns, the pair obediently settled down. Dolls inspected the box, and, to put icing on the cake, found the two rings inside. He sent it away. No need to verify; this was too elaborate a hiding place to plant fake rings. He planned to wait for the box to be taken off-site to arrest Wynonna and Nicole. No risks, here.

Nicole helped the statue off her partner and mumbled to Rosita. Any possible plan would work. Releasing a litter of puppies, summoning the zombie apocalypse, calling in the local clowns guild—anything. Rosita told them to sit still, so they did. There was nothing but Dolls’s gun and presence of his extensive team making them obedient little dogs, and the sound of a car leaving.

Wait, no, not leaving . . .

“Get ready to run, you two!”

The van crashed through the back of the greenhouse. A second smoke bomb left Nicole’s belt as Dolls and his men coughed and dodged flying debris. Messy gunshots followed, aimed at their feet, as they made a break for it. Jeremy was off before the back doors could close, allowing them the chance to see Dolls run out of the greenhouse and stare, once again failing a capture after once again coming so close. Nicole laughed with Wynonna, at the miracle of yet another close call and lucky escape from right between Black Badge’s fingers. They were too far gone by the time pursuers hopped into cars.

Then Nicole was hit with a sour realization.

“You scratched my van!”

-

Her sister brought ice for her knuckles, and her friend brought beer for celebration. Not a bad crew, here. Supportive even if Wynonna screwed everything up. The box was right in front of her. How could she let Dolls get away? How could she lose to a _statue_?

Nicole could sense this dread and gave a pat on the shoulder and a reassuring, “You did a really good job out there, Earp. You saved my ass.”

She gave a somber smile. “Thanks, Phoenix.” She smiled a little wider when Nicole shook her head at the name.

Rosita rejoined them from the mine, where she’d gone to retrieve a charger for Jeremy. She paused at the table to make her disapproval known again about the fact they stopped, again, in the middle of a grand escape, to get fast food.

“I cannot believe you did this,” indicating the burgers and fries.

Wynonna took a massive bite out of her burger, ketchup and mustard oozing over her fingers, not bothering to finish chewing when she said, “Aren’t you American? Shouldn’t burgers be your jam?”

“Don’t do it,” Waverly said from behind her homemade salad. “Think about that poor cow!”

Jeremy nodded next to her in agreement, one hand in a basket of reheated fries and the other attempting to type alone on his laptop. Too high on adrenaline on the drive back to eat. There was also that unspoken rule of dining together, like a team. No one ever seemed to break that one.

Wynonna waved her food around. “She’s already dead. You might as well give it some meaning.”

Waverly and Jeremy scoffed.

“So what’s next?” Nicole asked. She suddenly slapped Wynonna’s hand when she tried to steal a fry. “I thought you wanted me to try these? ‘Best in Purgatory!’ you said.”

“Hey,” Wynonna defended, “Earp family table manners clearly state unguarded fries are free to be stolen.”

Nicole looked to Waverly for help, but all she did was nod, so unwilling to face whatever legal punishment should follow the denial of such rules. So she decided to guard her fries with her hidden blade fully extended. Wynonna took hers out and tapped it against Nicole’s.

“No weapons at the table, you two,” Rosita lectured, noting their childishness.

Nicole glared at Wynonna. Wynonna stuck her tongue out.

Nicole broke her strong opposition when Rosita stole a fry.

“Hey!”

Rosita stared the pair down. “Focus.”

The rings were first priority. Already, Jeremy had discovered emails between Dolls and Moody. An event on Moody’s gigantic yacht in California to celebrate Black Badge’s win. They’ll show off the rings here and reflect on what they’d done and what they had left to do. The way Dolls was pushing, this was an obvious trap. But what other choice did they have? Breaking into the Black Badge facility? That’d be a much harder feat. At least, on the yacht, the crowd and security would be lesser. All around, it would be an easier heist. Get in with fake invites, swipe the rings, swim to where Jeremy would be waiting with a getaway boat, or try to steal one of the patrols’. Jeremy insisted he not to go the party, lest he be recognized, or worst of all things, run into his ex. More employees were familiar with him, whereas Wynonna’s identity was known only by certain higher ups and she’d find it easier to blend in with the crowd. Jeremy added there aren’t many other Indian employees, either, so he’d truly stand out.

While listing escape plots, Rosita paused and eyed Nicole, who was visibly tense.

“It’s fine,” Nicole assured of this mystery problem. “No other choice, right?”

“What’s up?” Wynonna butted in. Nicole just scratched her head.

“Nicole can’t swim,” Rosita answered. “She’s also extremely hydrophobic.”

Wynonna shrugged. “So? Everybody’s afraid of spiders.”

“Oh my god,” Waverly rubbed at her temples, downright worried for her sister, “that’s _arachnophobia_ , Wynonna.”

She only yawned with disinterest. “Yeah, well, I’m taller than you, so—”

“I’ll teach Nicole. I can get the rec center in Purgatory open to just us.” Waverly beamed. “I know a guy.”

“Scandalous,” Wynonna mumbled. She nudged Nicole, but Nicole didn’t reciprocate.

“In the meantime,” Rosita moved on, “Wynonna can keep searching the Animus for the eternal longevity ring.” She looked satisfied. “We’re one step ahead. One _huge_ step ahead.”

Jeremy added, “Waverly should also give out dance lessons. They always have these events, and there’s always a big, fancy slow dance.”

“Douchebags,” Wynonna mumbled.

“Sure,” Waverly accepted. “But,” and her eyes lit up, “only if I can go, too.”

Wynonna moved from bored slouch to upright faster than a blink. “No, no, I don’t—”

“My VR scores are getting better, I’m a really good swimmer, and it’ll be a simple job!”

“Not if it goes south, and with our luck—”

“It’s fine.”

Wynonna gave Rosita a dangerous glare. Anything concerning Waverly was not her choice, ever. “Listen, big bad Mentor—”

“We need all the help we can get.” Rosita crossed her arms from where she sat across Wynonna. “Or would you rather she stay here while we all go to California?”

Wynonna was silent.

“Good.” Rosita tapped the table and made for the mine. She’d been awfully busy with some experiment lately, one aside from the new hallucinogen recipes she found. “Let’s get to work. We have two days to make this work. Party’s Sunday night.”

Waverly was on her feet before Wynonna could smack the nonsense out of her or hogtie and ship her off to Tahiti. All she could do was eye her as she scurried. Nicole nudged her.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

Wynonna nudged Nicole back. “Bros for life, Phoenix.”

-

_October 14, 2016_

How does one cope with a long drive alone with one’s maybe-kinda very gay crush on the big-hearted, muscular, super attractive girl one works with who probably-maybe likes one back? One rambles. Like crazy.

Somehow they crossed the subject of pirates. Then Waverly recalled an Assassin she read about who operated during the Golden Age of Piracy. That’s where it started. At the mere thought of the era, Waverly was off faster than a racehorse after a runaway carrot. She went on for a huge chunk of their drive, almost an hour. Nicole didn’t stop her. Didn’t ignore her, either. Just listened, and _wow_ that was a whole new drug of its own.

In truth, Nicole was massively relieved to hear about it. They were going to be an hour plus drive away from camp, half that if the van was a tank that could plow through the trees. And if getting lost wasn’t a factor. Nicole couldn’t tell if the feat was for or against their advantage. She was anxious, more about being so far than what she and Waverly were about to do. But they needed to act now, the party being around the corner. Tomorrow she’d be at camp, ready on the front lines. She just had to get through today’s swimming lessons, which she was certain would consume the whole day. At least her company was the adorable, rambling dork next to her. Waverly always made her think everything would be okay.

-

The rec center was empty, and a bit cold. Closed on weekends, including Fridays. Waverly checked the water. Warmed and ready to go with the lights on. She noted the darting eyes and clenched jaw of her partner, so she offered a distraction by explaining the person in charge of the pools owed her a few favors. He was an older gentleman, ill, living on his own. He needed to go to the big city for his doctor’s appointments, but the office had the same hours as the rec center and he couldn’t afford time off. So Waverly used to cover his shifts, no pay, so he could go get his treatments. Now he’s fully healthy, looking forward to quite a few more years.

“Wow,” was all Nicole could say to that. It was borderline sainthood. Waverly seemed quite proud of herself, the way she grinned.

“You know,” she said, “I was voted the nicest person in Purgatory. I’ve got the sash to prove it.”

“Oh, I believe you,” Nicole nodded.

Waverly was getting into the pool, testing the waters further by standing on the first step. She wore a T-shirt tied up tight behind her and a pair of shorts she stole from Wynonna. Didn’t exactly pack swim clothes for the long winter. Wasn’t risking a trip to her apartment or Gus’s, either. The best Nicole could do, from where she sat like stone on a chair as far as possible from the water, was a tank top and shorts. Goosebumps pricked her skin.

“Are you ready?” Waverly called from the pool.

Nicole shook her head, her eyes wide. Waverly let out a sympathetic chuckle. She jumped in the rest of the way and swam in front of Nicole, docking herself by holding onto the edge.

“How about you sit here for now—” she patted the solid, dry, no-water, totally safe ground— “and just stick your feet in?”

Nicole seemed amenable to that. She stood slowly, cautiously, and approached like she was trying to mount a spooked horse. Trying her best not to get kicked in the head and die forever. She dipped her foot in the same, one toe at a time. Waverly congratulated her, kind enough to only be half sarcastic.

Waverly left for a second to swim across the pool. Stopped at the farthest end, dove for a considerable amount of time and surfaced with, of all things, a bottle of whiskey. Purgatory was a strange, strange place.

Then the bottle was being handed off and Waverly was explaining, “There’s a false compartment back there the swim team used to hide bottles in. I guess they forgot one.”

Nicole opened the brand new bottle graciously and drank some nerves down. Waverly lounged around, floating on her back. Nicole tried not to stare at the team history nerd’s _fit_ legs.

A generous portion of the bottle was downed by the time Waverly was asking again if Nicole was ready. Declined, again. Nicole downed more whiskey. She felt very Wynonna right now. Was there an option to do this drunk?

“Okay,” Waverly laughed as she swam over, “why don’t we talk about it? Yes?”

Nicole nodded.

“Alright. What made you hydrophobic, Nicole?” She folded her arms on the edge between them and rested her head.

Nicole had another sip. Only felt a tiny bit buzzed. “I never learned to swim. We never got to it, and I never really needed it. One day we chased a target down a stream. I got shot and fell down a strong current. I couldn’t do much, so I almost drowned. But luckily Rosita jumped in and managed to save me. So next team beach day, count me out.” She added a small laugh. Then drank again at the memory.

Waverly soothingly placed a hand to her thigh, and Nicole felt her heart jump. For good measure she joked, “But don’t you want to play in the sand?”

Nicole snorted. “Not _that_ bad.” She indicated Waverly with the bottle. “I’m sure it’s fun, though.”

Waverly shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been.” She raised her head, serious. “I’ve never left _Purgatory_.”

Nicole was genuinely shocked to hear that. Surely, for someone so knowledgeable about the world and interested in the things that shaped it she would’ve gone _somewhere_ . Yes, she was young, but she graduated both high school and college so early. Nicole imagined the first day after graduation she would’ve been gone on some grand adventure _._ She almost thought Waverly was joking.

“Really?”

“Really,” Waverly confirmed. Totally not a prank. Just truth. Waverly noted the disbelief in Nicole’s expression.

“Huh. Then I guess you _are_ on this job.”

Waverly smiled appreciatively. A moment after, she began to backstroke. “But you gotta get in first.”

Nicole drank again.

“Please?” Waverly asked. “For me?”

When she gave a pout Nicole silently damned her to Hell and jumped in. Then silently lectured herself for the highly unprofessional act of noting how cute Waverly looked pouting.

“Hey,” Nicole looked around and grinned confidently, “this isn’t so bad.”

Standing in the shallow end, of course, where she was much too tall to drown.

Waverly decided to shatter her hopes. “Yeah, just you wait ‘til we get to the deep end. It’s taller than even the likes of you.”

Nicole’s happy grin died. “Shit.”

Waverly swam over and looked into Nicole’s eyes. The sadness she knew in them was growing smaller over time, and it was one of her favorite developments to observe. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She froze. She said that way too seriously for a completely heterosexual female woman to her totally unattractive (smoking hot) _friend_.

“Uh, because the insurance money’s not worth it.”

The laugh that followed cleared the air again.

-

The quick progress Nicole was making allowed for a long break. They gently handled the basics and covered some diving, and did many, many laps. No trouble all around, because Nicole completely trusted Waverly and in result practically got over a highly traumatic experience in a blink. Too bad they missed the Olympics.

Nicole and Waverly laid next to each other on the lawn chairs least destroyed surrounding, the others in terrible shape because the citizens of Purgatory were careless jerks, wrapped up in the towels they brought. Nicole eventually got sick of the cold and picked the lock on the thermostat and kicked on the heat. Can’t get hypothermia, right?

The relaxing silence they’d found themselves in was broken when Waverly read a text from Wynonna. She’d completed Sequence 6, yet another uneventful chase after yet another empowered degenerate, Wyatt taking the chance to test his new deputies. Waverly wondered what Sheriff Clootie was so afraid of. Why he was hiding. No way all that fear was for Wyatt—she didn’t read him as the running type. Wynonna also sent her “worst wishes” to Nicole because Calamity Jane was causing devastation to the modern man once more. Nicole mumbled how she loved that cat.

“So what’s next?” Waverly asked. Her phone buzzed with more Wynonna updates but she let them be. Mostly damnations on Nicole’s cat. “You’re doing great. We can stop, if you want.”

Nicole’s eyes were closed. “No, we should stay. Just a few more minutes’ rest, first.”

Waverly had no quarrel. She put on music to continue their “lessons”. “Girls Like Girls”, by Hayley Kiyoko, and she told Nicole to “have a piece of queer music history”. Nicole’s eyes didn’t open, but she was smiling. Waverly felt like a hypocrite for telling herself to stop staring.

By the time the next song was halfway through, Waverly’s internal panicking about certain feelings burst to the surface.

“Nicole, how did you know you were gay?”

Nicole’s eyes opened.

Christ, what was next, full-on _telling_ Nicole she’s had more thoughts about her than kills on Wyatt’s record?

Nicole thought to ask Waverly if she was questioning but elected not to. She could smell her panic like a fresh pastry. Best not to send her bolting.

“Um, well, it wasn’t something I ever really questioned,” Nicole answered honestly. “I just sort of always knew I didn’t like guys. Being with Shae really proved it for me.”

Waverly twiddled her thumbs. “But what-what if you’re not sure?”

 _Definitely_ questioning. “Just follow your heart. If, say, _you_ are thinking about someone that way, you should follow the fantasy. If you feel nothing, you feel nothing. If you do, don’t run. Just let your mind wander where it wants to. And know there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Waverly was quiet for a bit, only nodding. So, respectfully, Nicole was quiet, too. She closed her eyes and listened to the new song playing. _Let’s have a good time and never look back, never look back . . ._

“I’m really sorry about Shae.”

Changing the subject. Certainly sounded calmer now. She looked calmer, too. Like she’d just received valuable advice. Nicole pulled a small smile.

“I know she was the love of your life.”

Nicole frowned. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Waverly sat up. “How do you mean?”

“I’m not—I’m not sure we were in love, exactly. Just really close. More like, ‘Hey, we’ve got some things in common in this hellhole’. I guess I kind of painted a perfect, fairy tale romance, didn’t I? What I neglected to mention was Shae and I fought, a lot, mostly about our situation. I was too afraid to leave, but she wanted me to see it was what we had to do. Or what _she_ had to do, at least. Every time we tried to sneak out I’d fight her on it or hesitate enough to get us caught. I think, once we got settled in a new life, we would’ve drifted apart.” She eyed Waverly, “It was a situational romance.”

“I’m sorry,” Waverly offered. Felt guilty for bringing it up. But Nicole just smiled her perfect smile, and looked right at her.

“It’s okay, Waverly.”

-

Nicole snuck them into the gym across the building to borrow ankle weights and dumbbells. She tied the ankle weights to herself and held the dumbbells in both her hands, really pushing her new swimming abilities to the limit. They moved next door to the competitive swimming pools and she did timed laps, diving exercises, anything that’d come in handy. She wanted to be certain she wouldn’t be the one to screw the job up. When Waverly deemed her “graduated”, she admitted she actually really liked swimming.

When sundown fell they headed back to the mine. A quick detour to fill Jeremy’s request for more flash drives. As large as they could afford (or steal), the way sequences were eating up memory. They were basically filming a VR documentary, after all. He wanted to get an external hard drive, but ultimately decided it was better the documents were separate in the drives. If things went down, Black Badge could end up with the less important files instead of the whole thing.

“Quick” detour turned long. At first it was because Waverly stopped to get better highlighters than the dying set she had. Then they stopped by the desk section to make fun of office lackeys working for Black Badge. Then they had a “gunfight” with laser pointers.

A second detour when they passed Purgatory’s “best” restaurant, a twenty-four hour diner with blessedly low priced meals. Waverly was ready to convince Nicole to go, but Nicole didn’t need convincing. She’d been working out all day and hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Of course she wasn’t waiting the hour drive back to the mine to eat.

Inside, the first thing Waverly did was lecture herself for comparing this to a date. It _wasn’t_ a date, it was just two workplace friends getting a bite to eat before returning to _work._ It didn’t matter said workplace friend was gorgeous and had a wonderful soul and really didn’t seem to mind long, boring, nervous, obnoxious historical ramblings. Like currently, as Waverly went on and on about the old west’s real life Calamity Jane. She was expecting to hear the usual parental “Not at the table, Waverly”, or terrible, gross, Champ-style “flirting”, but nothing. Hell, Nicole even asked _questions._ Was there a chance _this_ was a VR simulation?

She had to ask. She had to ask Nicole why she never stopped her. Waverly assumed she was just too polite to tell her to stop. It was nothing of the sort. _Nothing_ of the sort. Nicole’s response left her blushing.

“I love hearing you talk about things you like.”

-

_October 15, 2016_

Nicole was quick to realize just how dumb she was to spend a whole day cramming swim lessons. It took three people to help her up in the morning, and she spent all of breakfast icing herself instead of eating. All she had to say about it was a dumb Vine reference. When the whole team piled in the van to drive into town, she just laid across the floor.

The destination was to Wynonna’s unnamed “friend” about getting fake passports. Apparently when they were younger fake I.D.s was their strong suit. Real ones could alert BBD in a blink. Waverly was expecting an alleyway in the shadiest part of Purgatory, so she was massively relieved when she realized they were going to see Mercedes Gardner at the Gardner residence, a place easily a billion times larger than the Earp or McCready home. Wynonna honest to God got lost in it once.

Inside was a quiet house, but for Mercedes’s endless, friendly chatter in the delight of seeing Wynonna Earp again. It was a treat to see an old friend again. Recently she’d been down on her luck and had to scurry home thanks to crushing debts. “Twenty-first century culture,” she referred it.

“I can fly you there, too, if you’d like,” she offered, and Wynonna waited for her to laugh and say she was joking. She didn’t.

“Didn’t you just say you’re in crushing debt?” she inquired.

Mercedes sat the group at a truly elegant dining table that was over two yards long, one Waverly swore Nicole was admiring the craftsmanship of, and poured herself wine.

“Turns out—” she set the bottle down— “Tucker decided to spend thousands of dollars in my name on drones and gamer junk. You remember Tucker, right?”

Wynonna poured herself some wine, too. Table was set for a meal, but it was barely noon. “Really hard to forget that creep.” She saw Waverly nod in agreement.

“I found this out recently,” Mercedes continued. “I suggested, to punish him, our parents cut him off temporarily because he was spending all their money. He decided to get revenge. He messed up my real estate career and my credit.” She raised her glass. “So let’s do the same to him. What else can I do for you? I can get our private jet.”

Rosita’s and Wynonna’s jaws dropped. Jeremy takes money from Black Badge accounts in tiny amounts, every day. They got by on the totals that accumulated over time. They’d been stressing about plane tickets or gas costs to drive out to California, large expenses that’d surely be noticed if stolen all at once, as well as managing to actually sneak onto a plane, and here Mercedes was, offering free travel on her own personal aircraft.

Mercedes caught her friend’s expression. “I owe you for always getting us out of trouble. What else?” She grinned, “This is fun!”

Wynonna eyed Rosita, then Mercedes. “Well, uh, it’s a formal event so we’ll need formal outfits.” Another big expense they stressed about.

“Done. When is it?”

“Tomorrow. Nighttime.”

“Great, we’ll do some shopping when we get there. Where, exactly?

“California.”

The drink in her glass swished around when she gleefully waved her hands. “Ooo, shopping in Cali!”

Wynonna was so grateful she burst into laughter. “Wow, thanks so much, Mercedes.”

“Oh no,” she stopped, and put her wine aside, “thank _you._ For always being a good friend.”

Funny, Wynonna always thought she was a lousy friend.

-

The five journeyed next to the rec center’s pools again for Waverly and Rosita to evaluate swimming skills. Just in case. Jeremy tried to avoid Wynonna’s obnoxious splashing from soaking his laptop. Nicole downed more painkillers to ease her sore _everything_. Swimming, she decided, was awful.

It only took a few moments to clear everybody for the job, so rather than head back to the horrendously dull mine to mind-numbing movies, overplayed games, and weight lifting, Wynonna convinced them to have a small pool party. Reasoning: “Come on, we could be dead tomorrow.” She wasn’t wrong. They played Chicken for a bit, where Wynonna nearly drowned her partner Jeremy several times trying to knock Waverly off of Nicole. She had claimed, growing up, she was always best at throwing Young Waverly on the ground and making a break for it. Usually for whatever snack it was Waverly was trying to eat in peace. Waverly considered this sweet, sweet revenge. They played Marco Polo next, and eventually banned Nicole and Rosita and their fancy training from winning, tracking down everyone with their eyes closed like it was the easiest task in the world. On the way back to the mine they grabbed some takeout food. Waverly spent the drive back, at Nicole’s request, telling all about Marco Polo’s real-life adventures.

Dancing lessons started the minute they got back. They moved the workout gear, the VR gear, and the table, and Waverly tried not to stare at the unmoved folder from Sheriff Nedley, the information about her father still unread. She deemed it wasn’t a distraction she needed just now. Steal rings, beat bad guys, save the world, _then_ learn about Dad. Easy enough. All she had to do was teach her buzzed sister and two assassins how to slow dance, not die, not lose the rings, not fall in love with her stupid gorgeous co-worker . . .

Things were flowing along. Waverly found a great ballroom music playlist on YouTube, afterwards arguing with Jeremy about the fact she didn’t use Spotify because she couldn’t figure the damn thing out. The lessons were supposed to be simple. Just a slow dance, and chances were the place would be too crowded for any snobs to point anyone out and start laughing. Rosita was dancing just fine, even with her leg obstructing her. Meanwhile the world’s worst duo, Wynonna and Nicole, spent their time goofing off. So Waverly dismissed Rosita and had the two pair up.

Which was a terrible idea.

Because the second Waverly told the two doofs to partner up, Nicole got on one knee in front of Wynonna, took her hand, and asked, “Milady, might I please have this dance?”

And Wynonna shot off a false look of guilt, turned away dramatically, and replied, “I can’t! I’m sleeping with your wife!”

Nicole’s hands flew over her mouth, head shaking, and she said in distraught, “Gasp!”

The fake scene went on for a good half hour, and by the time they finally ended it Waverly was in a steaming rage. Jeremy had tears in his eyes and clapped. Rosita mumbled they were all dead.

It took a ridiculous amount of time to teach them the simple etiquette of a simple slow dance, but eventually they achieved some level of skill. And Waverly only pulled out _some_ of her hair, so all in all it was a success.

-

Waverly decided to skip movie night when Wynonna and Jeremy broke out into an argument on whether or not the summer flick _Warcraft_ was a good film or not. Turned out they were both extremely passionate about World of Warcraft. Even Calamity Jane didn’t stick around.

She caught Nicole just as she left the mine, climbing gear in hand. Rosita was checking the site of tomorrow’s event with the help of Google Earth’s nosiness. The image she found actually _had_ Moody’s boat in it. He was a fishing on the weekends type of executive. Every weekend, apparently.

“Hey, you,” Nicole greeted, and Waverly smiled as she always seemed to when Nicole was around. “Wanna go stargazing?”

Waverly hugged her puffy jacket tighter. The closer winter approached was the more she cursed nature. “What, on the cliff?”

Nicole waved the gear. “Yep.”

The sight of the giant wall of rock made Waverly uneasy. “I don’t really know how to climb.”

“I’ll teach you.” Nicole slung the gear over her shoulder. “Or pull you up; there’s a pulley rig at the top.”

“I’m super bad with heights.”

Nicole just smiled and stuck out her hand. “I’m super bad with water.”

There was a promise in here, a promise she wouldn’t let Waverly find harm. Ever. Between them was a trust Waverly didn’t often feel and knew Nicole didn’t, either, especially in her line of work. She accepted and grabbed her hand.

“Fine. But if I plunge to my death, I’ll kick your ass.”

Turned out Waverly was a quick study, a good climber, and really enjoyed scaling a cliff side at several feet. Or maybe it was because she had Nicole by her side.

Their maze of a workplace looked less than a potential death trap and more like a natural beauty from this height, in the glow of the moonlight. The treeline, stretching for miles. The winding trails that provided entry to this place, or exit back into civilization. Purgatory was a tiny dot of light in the distance. Down there, her problems were so gigantic. Rent money, financial loans, shitty bar patrons, shitty boyfriend, shitty locals with small minds. Her deep longing for the day she’d finally leave it all behind. Now she felt silly; look how small it all was, from such a small distance. From Mars, it was a speck even smaller. From a different galaxy it was microscopic.

Waverly couldn’t help but stare. No wonder Nicole climbed up here when she was upset after the Bleeding Effect fiasco. How could that view _not_ break a smile?

They sat in a kind of awe, eyes scanning the heavens and laying on a pile of blankets Nicole brought up at an earlier time. There was no music, no conversation. Just each other, the bright sky, and a silent appreciation of nature.

“This is nice.” Waverly spoke, in a hushed whisper so as not to disturb the peace too harshly. “You were right, you know; Purgatory’s best quality is the sky.”

“I used to sneak out of bed every night for a peek,” Nicole admitted.

“Me too,” Waverly smiled. “One night Uncle Curtis caught me. I thought I was in trouble but he took me on the roof instead. It sort of became our nighttime tradition. Then I moved in with Champ at Shorty’s and that was that.”

Nicole was laughing suddenly. “I met Champ the other night.”

“Oh God.” Waverly’s eyes closed in the imagination of such an event.

“Real stand up guy.”

Waverly laughed.

“He was kind of being an asshole so we spiked his drink. He passed out while he was flirting with some poor girl.”

Waverly glanced at Nicole. “My hero.”

“Hey, I try, I try.” She received an appreciative smile.

“God, Champ was so awful. I don’t know why I stayed with him so long.  I mean, all of Purgatory’s men are awful, but still. He was selfish and impatient and I _knew_ he used to cheat. I guess I was too insecure to say anything.”

“Well, what made you finally leave him?”

Waverly gestured around. “This. Wynonna, the rings, Black Badge. I know the Assassins have their faults, and I certainly don’t agree with the part where you kill people as a solution to evil, but I like this. I _love_ this. I feel like I’m making a difference here. This is all bigger than me and I _love_ that. At first I left Champ because finding Wynonna was the most important thing and he didn’t care and it made me mad. Now I see it’s because I _had_ to. I couldn’t be with someone like him any longer. I’ve never felt more like me than I do right now and I love it.”

“You’ve certainly grown a lot since you got here. Especially after we got Wynonna back. Like you’ve found a confidence. I’m really happy for you, Waverly.”

Waverly blushed. “Thanks, Nicole.”

“And you sure as hell deserve better than that doofus one day. Much better.”

Waverly studied Nicole’s profile. The only thing more beautiful than the trees below or the stars above. “I’m starting to see that, too.”

-

_October 16, 2016_

Whatever firm, solid object Waverly was pressed up against and clutching so tightly was warm and homey. Her first conscious thought was repulsion. It was a body. It was Champ. Then she remembered Champ was gone and relaxed.

Then her eyes flew open.

It was Nicole. She was sleeping entirely on top of Nicole, and _sweet Jesus_ she was so warm but they were co-workers and friends and Nicole’s kind-of-sort-of girlfriend just died and it didn’t matter Waverly knew and finally accepted she was totally bisexual because they were _friends_ and this was wrong and _Jesus_ she looked so sweet and peaceful in her sleep—

Waverly shifted herself off so slightly, so gently. Paused. Checked to see if Nicole stirred. Nothing. She kept going, ever so careful not to disturb her peaceful slumber, mouthed _sorry_ and casually flipped on her side to prevent it from happening again.

Behind her, Nicole laughed silently, because she’d been trying to do the same for twenty minutes now.

-

Mercedes and Wynonna further explored Mercedes’s financial revenge scheme. They started on the idea of buying bars dry and ended at renting their own, boat and throwing their own party. Compared to what they were about to do, their own, private boat certainly sounded much more appealing. Appealing in the sort of way they wouldn’t need to worry about a top secret agency run by a top secret organization trying to kill them or pick their brains until there was nothing left. In fact, a harmless party boat was the sexiest thing in the world right now.

The Gardner private jet was a spectacle of its own. Waxed wood floors with a polished finish and not a speck of dust. A stereotypically British butler in a black suit and white gloves serving them drinks, a whole bar on display. Reclining seats that went so far backward they could double as beds. A golden plate with “Gardner” engraved hanging by the cockpit entrance, shining in the light.

Wynonna talked Mercedes’s head off about traveling Europe, half hoping to coerce her into going with and bringing her fancy plane. Rosita put in earbuds and scribbled away in her recipes notebook. She was mad she couldn’t get whatever her big, secret experiment was done. Jeremy went over their target site once more, mostly reminding himself of escape routes. Waverly and Nicole sat in the back corner together, Waverly’s eyes glued on the windows. She looked pale.

“It’s not so bad,” Nicole offered. She knew this was Waverly’s first time on a plane. Never mind what they were about to do.

“I know. It’s just,” she twiddled her thumbs, eyes not leaving the proof they were still on the ground, “it goes really, really, _really_ high up. Which means we’ll be really, really, _really_ —”

“Easy,” Nicole laughed. “I promise you, I’ve done this a few times and nothing’s ever gone wrong.”

Waverly finally turned to her, eyes wider than the wings outside their window. “I know, but what if just this once—”

“Hey, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Waverly paused. Nicole grinned, evil.

“The insurance money’s just not worth it.”

Waverly let herself laugh, and her troubles eased off with the feeling. Nicole kept her distracted by having them watch the sixth _Harry Potter_ film, and Waverly spent the whole time “correcting” it by explaining the scenes and details that were left out. She deemed it the worst adaption of the series, and Jeremy was quick to join in. All her nerves were erased, it seemed. Jeremy curiously noted she held Nicole’s hand the entire flight. Neither seemed to mind or notice.

-

The thing about being in sudden, crushing debt after growing up rich is the inability to de-stress with long shopping sprees. The thing about trying to bring a debt upon someone else is the ability to spend absolutely madly, perhaps, say, on a long shopping spree.

Wynonna didn’t know the price of her dress was an amount legal to sell clothes at. In fact, the purchase convinced her the real day hadn’t started yet and this was just a hyper-realistic dream. The same thoughts crossed the mind of the team’s other Earp when Nicole showed off a _very_ complimenting pantsuit.

Wynonna was in a red dress, Waverly a teal, and both the pro Assassins in suits and boots. Suits for chasing foes, boots for holding blades to kill foes. Nicole borrowed back her basic blade from Wynonna and stuck it under her foot. Hopefully any metal detectors would be handled by lazy fools who didn’t scan all the way down. Rosita planned to convince them she had prosthetics if she was caught. Good chance of passing. Maybe.

-

Mercedes rented Jeremy a boat, another tough task checked off so easy, and took herself two towns over. She didn’t know what was going on or what it was they were up to, but she did know for fact Wynonna was working some super cool secret agent job and she was not going to be the loser friend who mucked it up.

There was a line at the pier formed by fancy-dressed, ugly-faced Black Badge executives and the occasional lucky low-level employee. Not a single metal detector in sight. Damn. They could’ve smuggled guns, then. Just a man, a guest list, his high-pitched voice and his disproportionately tiny head. Rosita parted her hair to cover most of her face, Waverly changed her usual style of makeup and copied the hair trick, Nicole actually surrendered and let Waverly and Jeremy splash some eyeliner and mascara on her, and Wynonna donned a headscarf and overly large sunglasses. She called it a “European look”. Of course they knew their subtle but weak disguises might not be enough, but the second they saw the lackluster security they saw a chance. Their names on the fake invitation from Jeremy weren’t on the list, but the quality was good enough to aid Wynonna’s case as she talked the poor guy’s head off. They got in.

A smaller boat carried the team and some stone-faced strangers to the main event, already out to sea. Moody’s yacht was surrounded by security, some patrolling onboard, some sailing nearby and others docked in the immediate perimeter. Jeremy hid himself in the distance, and the dark of the night’s air helped conceal him. He made himself look like a convincing fisherman otherwise.

Nicole and Waverly went one way, Wynonna and Rosita the next. Wynonna decided it best to keep her distance from her sister. If she was captured, she’d rather not have Waverly taken too, but running as far as possible. Nicole gave her a reassuring nod when they split.

The conversations Wynonna overheard made her want to barf. Executives with fancy paychecks totally misunderstanding basic politics and the basic necessities struggling families needed. Or the concept of a struggling family. To them, that probably meant husband getting caught with mistress, not husband getting caught with cancer and the bills and pain that came with it.

The team concealed their usual, dot-sized communication devices inside regular, deactivated hands-free Bluetooth earpieces to look business-like and blend in. Truly, they did, because the things were everywhere on everyone like some sort of futuristic earring. When they checked in with each other, Wynonna and Nicole always got scolded for taking away from team focus to insult wealthy ignorants under their breaths. But the final interruption was from Waverly. A suspicious, locked door guarded by three gigantic men. Small chance the room was Moody’s personal quarters. Bigger chance it was the rings’.

No time. The music changed from upbeat jazz to ballad. Jeremy was listening in and warned them. Moody always got the band to play the same song. Rumor was he wrote it himself. Rosita told everyone to join while she made for the rings. Plenty had seen her limping. Perfect excuse for not participating, she hoped. Nicole and Waverly blended in on the dance floor. Wynonna tried to sneak off entirely. She stopped dead cold when a hand firmly grasped her shoulder. Intentionally. As in with intention.

“Miss, I think you dropped this.”

If it were someone else, she would’ve fallen for it. But she knew that bland yet fear-invoking voice. She turned with a scowl to greet Black Badge’s Sergeant Xavier Dolls, as he held up the favorite necklace she lost while escaping their custody at the start of all this.

“Keep it,” she said. “I’d rather those rings you took. Full offense: they’re not your color.”

Dolls spared a rare, amused smile and placed the necklace over her head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Formally, I mean.”

“Yeah, it’s a real disco.”

Dolls offered his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Wynonna reluctantly accepted. “Don’t really have a choice, do I?”

She followed his lead with eyes daggered. Damn him, so confident and cocky. He hadn’t won. No one won until she said so. Chosen One and all that. The only win Dolls was getting tonight was the fancy food they were serving.

“Real big of you to start round two yourself,” she growled. She crushed his hand to emphasize.

“I’ve come to end this. It’s gone on long enough.”

“Aw, but I was just getting to know you!”

She gave a fake pout, but it went unnoticed as Dolls turned his head into his shoulder to cough. His hands were a bit sweaty, too. The price of being a druggie super soldier, Wynonna figured.

“I would ask if you’ll give me a head start,” Wynonna said again, “but I think I’ll be good to go once you hack your lungs up.”

“It’s nothing,” Dolls snapped, trying to recompose himself. He looked like he was in pain. “Look, I don’t want to ruin this event, so why don’t you do everyone a favor and surrender quietly?”

“Go to Hell, sickie.” Dolls coughed again. “You’re not exactly fit to unleash a can of whoop ass right now.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

When they turned in their lazy swaying, Wynonna caught sight of Waverly. Talking with Nicole. Safe. Hopefully not made yet. Dolls would’ve threatened that by now, right? Why the hell did she let Waverly get on the boat?

She directed her attention back on Dolls. Hoping Rosita was near the rings already. “How can you work for these people? They’ll destroy everything. If the way they treated Willa isn’t any indication, I don’t know what is.”

“I’m sorry about your sister.” Almost convincing. He even had the worried crinkle in his brow.

“No, spare me the fake sympathy. You’re just as awful as the rest of these people.”

Dolls’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You don’t know me.”

Wynonna’s eyes narrowed with equal intensity. “Yeah? Try me.”

-

It was moments after the dance started when Nicole’s fingers tapped against Waverly’s waist, a paleness about her. “I feel funny.”

Waverly peeked up, questioning. Hoping that didn’t mean their lead fieldwoman was seasick. The way Nicole’s eyebrows suddenly raised indicated she picked up on this.

“I mean, wearing all this fancy getup,” she tried again. Her eyes scanned the crowd. “I feel like everybody’s staring.”

One person certainly was, and she found the panic cute. “You look beautiful, is why,” she assured. Nicole’s eyes fell back on her.

“If anyone looks good here, it’s you.” She said it so casually, like it was the simplest fact in the world. Her eyes swam the crowd again and again she insisted, “I think we’ve been made.”

Waverly pulled them closer, worried about absolutely nothing in the world right now. There was a sudden, unexplainable braveness about her, one she’d make the most use of. “Maybe they’re jealous of how you look.”

“Who, me? The twenty-something with a five-year-old’s knowledge of the world?” Nicole continued looking over the crowd, until Waverly turned her head by her chin. They were eye to eye.

“No.” Waverly fixed the strand falling into Nicole’s face, most of her elaborately curled hair parted to the right. She aimed to correct, “Tall and beautiful. Soft eyes. So much compassion in one heart. The means but not the willingness to take someone’s life. Merciful.”

Nicole shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like me. Except for the ‘tall’ part.” She laughed a shaky smile that Waverly returned.

Nervous. Nicole was nervous.

“You do look great, though.” Waverly leaned closer to whisper, “I’d stare, too.”

Nicole just grinned like an idiot and ducked her head. “Waverly Earp, you know their eyes are on you.” She fixed Waverly’s hair, curled and parted in a similar fashion. “Nicest person in Purgatory. Helping old guys get to their doctor’s appointments.”

She remembered how Waverly talked her down when she hid in the van, when she swam in the deep pool of her life’s lowest moments. “Seeing the good in people.”

She stared deep into Waverly’s eyes, more serious than she’d ever been in her life. “Waverly Earp, you are a _vision_ , in every possible way.”

It was just like the movies. The dance was coming to a close. The music was slowing. Their noses were grazing one another as they leaned into each other. Nicole could feel her breath, so close—

“Good evening, all.”

They broke apart. Took a step for good measure and tried to calm their pounding hearts. Cleared their throats in embarrassment. Tried to think nothing of what almost happened.  Moody was here, on the small stage with the band.

The rings were on a pedestal next to him.

Rosita didn’t get them in time. Nicole radioed in a visual on the rings. Rosita reported she missed the move but had a swipe and escape plan that might work. In a corner, Dolls and Wynonna continued their conversation uninterrupted, unaware the dance stopped. They remained in close quarters, not swaying, but challenging one another.

“Things are complicated, Wynonna,” Dolls said, hushed under Moody’s welcome speech. A tiny part of him was alerted to his surroundings “Sometimes people in my position have to fall in line.”

Wynonna’s head shook. “That’s a shit excuse. There’s always a better way. Maybe you’re just a pussy, Dolls.”

“At least Black Badge doesn’t kill every person they deem criminal.”

“Really?” Wynonna indicated a guard just around the corner, outside on the deck. At attention. Armed. ”Explain the rifle, then. Explain what’ll happen if I run, right now.”

“Fake guns,” Dolls angrily defended, perhaps revealing too much information but not realizing it in this battle of morals. “The guns are for show. Moody trusts no one, especially with the rings here; he’s paranoid someone’s bound to cross him. He tried a no gun policy at headquarters, but no one would listen.”

But this was his boat, so he could do whatever he pleased. If she weren’t so ready to punch Dolls out she might’ve thanked him.

“Still bent on kidnapping,” Wynonna demonized onward. “Experimenting, too, and I’m thinking involuntarily.”

Dolls’s grip on her waist fell, and their stance broke completely. He twitched subtlety, almost in a disturbed fashion. Wynonna nodded in the realization of where exactly Dolls fell in line. A forced super soldier who was dying and looking to his boss for a literal lifeline.

Nicer, she tried, “Do the right thing, Dolls.”

He failed to collect his racing thoughts as he muttered, “I am.”

Dolls yanked off her fake Bluetooth with real comms device stuck inside and started to pull her off.

Wynonna Earp was no brainless damsel. She turned her head in the stage’s direction and yelled loudly as possible, “Nicole, go! The guns are fake!”

-

Nicole and Waverly were directly in front of the stage, in a corner a blindspot to where Moody faced. They both reveled in the way all color left the man’s face as Nicole hopped on stage, grabbed the drumset’s unscrewed ride cymbal, and hurled it in his direction. He frantically dodged, stopped Nicole by throwing the microphone in his hand, snagged the rings and their box, and sprinted off. Nicole and Waverly tailed him. Rosita ran to help Wynonna when she spotted Dolls trying to take her away. Madness broke out. Some guy called this the third worst party he’d been to this year.

When Jeremy reported gunshots, Wynonna was confused. Dolls either lied or Moody’s sailing crew snuck on guns despite him. She hoped no one onboard did. Jeremy had been sailing for a spot to pick up his team when he was caught, and nearly tossed himself overboard trying to dodge a rifleman’s steady aim in unsteady waters. He was borrowing Rosita’s pistols, but in the darkness while driving a boat and carrying poor shooting skills he found tagging someone a task unchecked. Only one man near the yacht had a gun, a rifle he’d snuck past Moody somehow, and a 9mm pistol he was debating to pass off or keep. Clearly the paranoid type, the way he disobeyed orders to arm himself. Nicole detoured for just a second to reach over the boat’s side, grabbed him, the world’s shortest security guard, Batman-style, and handed both the guns to Waverly. Then they split up. Nicole to keep on Moody, Waverly to find a place to help Jeremy. She _did_ insist her shooting scores were improving. Time to prove it.

As Nicole pushed through the crowd of civilians and punched through thugs she took a second of this lone venture to lecture herself. She almost _kissed_ Waverly Earp. Waverly freakin’ Earp. Wynonna would’ve murdered her, so fast, with a draw speed that’d put Doc Holliday to shame. And, _Lord_ , was she even over the last girl? Did she even _consider_ how this might’ve hurt Shae, if she was here?

There was a betraying, albeit truthful thought. _But I like her._

She punched some dude super hard. This wasn’t the time for some dumb love triangle that had a dead participant she probably didn’t love anyhow and one she certainly-probably-maybe did but couldn’t sort out just now because _Christ_ they’d just met each other one month ago! This wasn’t the time to be entangled in so many unnecessary feelings! This was a heist! A heist she needed to focus on, because it’d gone way, way, south!

-

On one side of the boat, Nicole was throwing a food tray at Moody’s legs to trip him, and took the brief opportunity to grab her hidden blade from her boot. Rosita was elsewhere, wrangling as many people as possible to fight and keep off pretty much everyone’s backs, all while trying to get over to Wynonna. Regular partygoers pushed, shoved, and trampled each to her to get on boats out of the fight scene. In another corner was Wynonna and Dolls, dodging each other’s blows.

They paused for a moment to attempt bargaining again, as Dolls coughed harder and sweat more. Wynonna tried not to feel bad. But the way he seemed all-in for Black Badge despite clearly suffering because of them and the ounce of sympathy he bothered to display, the way he seemed so willfully ignorant, infuriated Wynonna. Her peaceful negotiations turned into flat-out insults. At “heartless coward” he broke his normally neutral expression for anger. An anger that forced Wynonna to take a step back, because the man’s eyes were _glowing_ and his pupils took on a shape resembling a reptile.

There was one, curious thing: Dolls sobered. Dolls looked stunned. Startled. His hands frantically patted and searched his tuxedo pockets, and if Wynonna weren’t so shocked to see _lizard eyes_ on a human person she would’ve cracked a champagne bottle over his head.

Luckily Rosita showed up just in time to do it for her.

“You good?” she asked. She finally got the chance to kneel down, right next to Dolls, and retrieve her tucked away blade. She had no idea how she downed so any people without it. She was a scientist, not a martial artist.

“Good,” Wynonna answered. Her head was on a swivel. Some men were rushing in from their posts outside, and some were scraping themselves up in the aftermath of Rosita’s ass-kicking for a second round. “But I think we gotta go.”

Rosita motioned her off and strapped on her blade. When Wynonna wasn’t looking, talking about finding Waverly and Nicole, Rosita stole the chance to swipe an item from Dolls’s hand. A small glass tube with a blue liquid inside. Then she ran off for her team. An idea in tow. One that might finally go according to plan.

-

Wynonna and Rosita managed to grab Waverly as she wrestled on a side walkway with a guard over the rifle. The idiot knocked the pistol from her grip overboard, and just now managed to send the rifle, too. So Wynonna sent _him_ overboard. She’d cleared enough from Jeremy’s path, she hoped, to rejoin her peers as they made for Nicole.

Meanwhile Nicole was having flashbacks to her Brotherhood’s fight club. Half-dozen guys and Moody versus her, with the lingering soreness of the crammed swim lessons, and she wasn’t too humble to admit she was a complete badass in the self-defense department. Or at losing her targets. Moody could’ve slipped away multiple times by now. His guards put on a distraction act and he tried going for his private boat, but Nicole always managed to trip him or throw someone else to topple him over. She’d make a decent Purgatory bar-fight-breaking cop, she wondered. Some rifleman below had the distance, but not the all-clear. She stayed too close to Moody.

Black Badge’s leader with the deep trust issues ditched the box and put the rings in his jacket pocket. The looters at the homestead going after Peacemaker for a quick buck justified his fear of not wanting to hand them off, of wanting to keep them on his own person on his own watch. Would be anti-climactic if No-Name Johnny made off with priceless artifacts and bought himself an eight-story mansion.

When Nicole tackled him, flooring his backup beforehand, knife at the ready, his skills instantly leveled up and he found himself fighting back with more success than before in his desperation to not lose everything. They wrestled back and forth until he managed a strong hold on Nicole and kept her pinned face-down to the ground, thankfully still out of range from snipers below. At some point he demanded they stay below rather than help above. Jeremy was causing enough noise to worry him. His distrust, his need to do everything himself, Nicole hoped, would be the death of him. Moody and Ewan would’ve gotten along nicely.

“I am sorry about your partner,” he said, pressing Nicole further into the deck, her arm pinned behind her back. He kept up with the many attempts she made to free herself. “It was my intention to handle you, too. I see it would’ve saved me some time. I wouldn’t normally engage in your kind’s savagery, but sometimes unruly individuals need to be dealt with.”

Nicole’s latest attempt failed again. She panted out, “Oh good. Then . . . then your karma’s inbound.”

Moody wasn’t amused. “Your organization is littered with scum, and I will take pride in eradicating you.”

“Not as much pride as we’ll take in punching all your sorry bureaucratic faces!”

Wynonna Earp kicked then tackled Moody the Trustless Murderer to the ground, the remainder of the team and Moody’s sturdy men in tow. Gunshots from the guns smuggled on the farther-patrolling boats sounded below, alongside outcries when Team Earp’s lowest scoring shooter went on a frenzy to help his friends. Rosita sent Waverly overboard to help him, while she tore into the larger crowd. Reinforcements must’ve arrived. Nicole sent Wynonna off with the rings the second after she ripped them from Moody’s pocket.

Nicole thought she had Moody, cornered and defeated, ready to break her code and take another life in retribution for Shae Pressman once more, but found herself fleeing. God damn new guys had guns, and someone blasted a shot right past her head. Grand Master Moody got to live another day. She looked over her shoulder before joining Rosita in diving into the rough waters to meet their swerving, gunfire-dodging getaway ride. The shooter was Dolls. His eyes did not look right. _He_ did not look right.

-

In another era, another lifetime, Rosita Bustillos and Wynonna Earp would’ve made whole civilizations their _bitch._ They were the perfect gunslinging duo, they both learned, downing pursuers in a bumpy boat chase like cats on yarn. Their strong efforts helped the five ditch the boat at shore, hide out, and completely slip away scot-free. No casualties. No mishaps. Just the knowledge they truly proved themselves a formidable threat to BBD, scared the soul out of Moody, enjoyed expensive party food at no cost, and walked away with two more of the rings. Three of four total, and the biggest jump on the fourth possible.

They hopped into another Mercedes-provided rental and met their financial provider two towns over. She took them out for celebratory drinks when she saw the victory clear on their faces. She never asked what it was they were doing, just supported them. Wynonna wondered how it was _she_ was the better friend of the two. When they returned to Purgatory later in the night Wynonna genuinely told her they should do this sort of thing again.

There’d been a glow about the team since their massive win. Jeremy was so full of adrenaline he actually _breakdanced_ on the plane. Horribly, but so, so joyfully. Even the expected post-weirdness of an almost kiss didn’t wedge itself between Nicole and Waverly. Right now they were just too high on victory in the face of impossible odds to let deep feelings and deep whatsits get in the way. Tomorrow, like a hangover, it’d settle in, perhaps. Right now they were in the moment.

Individual victories were boasted on the drive back to the mine, and Nicole decided to forgive herself for letting Moody get away. Focus on the positives, was her new philosophy. Right now Wynonna told of how she danced with Dolls and spent the whole time “blowing his mind”. Nicole rolled her eyes at that comment. No one bought it.

“Was he scary?” Waverly asked. Wynonna shook her head and put on a convincing poker face as she tuned out proof of modified super soldiers and the fact she could’ve been mauled by one.

“Not really,” she lied, shrugging the whole scene off as nothing. “Just another government jerk.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate him.” Nicole peeked at the Earps from the rear view mirror, driving along the empty road. “He’s got a good rep for getting things done. And right now, right now he’s probably super pissed and super determined.”

Wynonna thought about those lizard eyes and lied defensively again. “Relax Haught. We’re Team Earp. We’re the stuff of miracles.”

-

_October 17, 2016_

He stood at attention in his superior’s office. Back perfectly straight. Stance solid. Hands folded behind him. Face all business. Internally, though, he was a step from total destruction. This was worse than any illness he’d ever experienced, and, worst of all, this was chronic and without known solution.

His superior sat at his desk, mahogany shining under the bright lighting of his spacious office. He purposefully said nothing, just to make his lower look a fool.

“Sergeant Dolls,” he finally said, his tone piercing enough without the way it cut through the contrasting silence, “do you understand the amount of trust I confide into you?”

“Sir—”

“Have those experiments begun to wilt away your common knowledge? Do you understand there are plenty of others I could’ve chosen for this task? Do you understand you’re expendable? By year’s end you’ll be dead, so you can imagine how little I care for helping your career flourish. What is keeping me from replacing you with Shapiro or Quinn? Hell, even Yorkie, and the man speaks plain gibberish!”

Xavier Dolls shifted uncomfortably. He tried not to sound angry, or worse, offended. “Sir, I am capable. There are only five of them—”

“Yes! Precisely!” Moody stood from his chair and rounded the front, face-to-face with Dolls, his rolling chair spinning behind him. “There are _five_ of them,” he hissed.

“I can do this, sir.”

Moody leaned against his desk. “I will hold you to that. But in case my frustrations aren’t clear enough—”

He shoved a small briefcase into Dolls’s chest, and prompted the man to open it. Filled with his power-suppressing medications.

“—I will be dispatching smaller shipments until the job is done.”

Dolls fell pale with worry. “Sir, you don’t understand. I _need_ these. It’s for everyone’s safet—”

Moody raised a palm. Dolls silently watched him return to his desk. Was he really about to suffer him into doing a better job? How did he expect him to get the job done while undermedicated?

“Then I suppose you’d better find those Assassins and the rings you and your ridiculous plot lost.” He shooed Dolls away with a wave of his hand. “You have your orders. Now go.”

Dolls marched out of the room. The case was barely enough to hold him for the week. No more playing around. No more mercy, no more reason. He needed to recapture Wynonna Earp and do away with her associates.

This was his last chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Way to spend your limited funds on fast food, hard same
> 
> Aaaaaanndd we’re back! Howdy all, hope the holidays were kind and trouble free and exciting. I do feel I need to apologize, because this chapter’s technically been done for like two weeks but I never got to editing because I got distracted with planning (and accidentally writing some scenes for) the next few chapters. We’re finally at my personal favorite part, and I have to say it’s really turning out lovely. Not for the team, but, you know. This is officially the end of this story’s first arc, or I guess the first Act. The next chapter moves the spotlight back on ol’ Wyatt Earp, and after that some real worrisome stuff comes the team’s way, oof. Sucks for them but I’m friggin’ excited
> 
> Also I would be the idiot drummer who gets their ride cymbal thrown because I never screw my god damn ride cymbal down and that extra large bitch falls over more than a drunken aunt at a family reunion 
> 
> And that Wayhaught dance scene totally wasn’t inspired by slash kinda stolen from The Last of Us Part II’s E3 trailer what whom
> 
> I wanted to point out yes, Dolls lives throughout this entire story. I won’t let anything happen to that sweet lil fire-breathin’ dude but right now he’s just in bad circumstances with the wrong people but soon he will find the family he’s supposed to be with and it’ll be stars and sunshines and I miss Dolls so much I-
> 
> Always, always, I’d like to thank y’all for sticking with this story and reading it and being here and blessing me with the chance to tell a wacky lil story about secret organizations and magic rings and awkward gays. Y’all’re a bunch of superstars, for real.
> 
> (Waverly, babe, no straight girl listens to Hayley)  
> Songs used in this chapter:  
> Girls Like Girls, Hayley Kiyoko [(S)](https://open.spotify.com/track/3dNjUFt6EFU4Gq6Q5vfJqf?si=szcHDgW2SBCprR6w2Z9wbw) [(Y)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hpq47QjJHOw)  
> One Bad Night, Hayley Kiyoko [(S)](https://open.spotify.com/track/098KHkooQ95mfdtdUJrRut?si=cU8YhuChQaeVkJh8wj5a6Q) [(Y)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6SyhipxNGwM)
> 
> *Dutch Van Der Linde voice* We’RE GoInG to TAhItI, ArThUR
> 
> Y'all hear that wack ass shit with AC Odyssey? Wild


	12. Sequence 10: A Devilry Called Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING for blood and mild gore this chapter

**_[SUBJECT: WYATT EARP]_ **

**_[SOURCE: WYNONNA EARP]_ **

**_[START: SEQUENCE 10, MEMORY 1]_ **

**_[MEMORY START: AUGUST 9, 1888]_ **

 

“I must say, Wyatt, it’s a fine home.”

A newly-purchased homestead, some distance from town. Wyatt was getting sick of staying in Purgatory’s, admittedly, lackluster hotel. When yet another evildoer tried to do him in a few nights ago, it was the final push to buying property here. He’d been spending time with more the townspeople than the Assassins lately, and already they looked to him as the hero who saved Purgatory in its darkest hour. Unfortunately, heroism brought on villainy and the wrongings towards the people only seemed to get worse. The hotel gunfight that broke out was enough to convince Wyatt to settle himself somewhere privately, for the safety of those around him. Heroes are worse than villains, he wondered.

The place was cheap, because the soil surrounding the land was too fussy. It could be a nice livestock farm, but Purgatory’s weather was odd and unpredictable, and such a life was misery. Most animals got spooked by surprise storms or froze to death in extreme weather drops overnight, to be welcomed by a burning sun the next morning. Purgatory, indeed.

Wyatt invited the Assassins he’d gotten to know, hoping to break the place in with friendly drinking. And frankly, he needed the break. It wasn’t a bad setup. Two barns, one half-destroyed by a lightning strike. Main house had a wide interior with an upstairs room, bathroom, and an attic. Beautiful lake within walking distance. There were geese squawking somewhere near. Wyatt actually liked it better than his home in California. The only unattractive quality was the absence of his Josephine. He wished there was an instant way to send letters, instead of the grueling wait time. Hell, instant letters would’ve been nice for when Doc’s final days came upon him. He hoped the man wasn’t alone, when he passed.

“It’s awfully spacious, too,” Ambrose Dickenson met him in the kitchen, after doing a second lap of the place. He looked a bit jealous. Lawmen did get paid handsomely, after all, and he was living as a freelancer in a church basement with ten other guys, the only income pouring in from odd jobs. “Maybe you could rent the place out to us, sometime?” he joked, nudging Wyatt.

Wyatt crushed out his cigarette on the table. Place was already furnished; the previous occupants either died or left in a hurry, the way the place was so messy. He glowed with an idea. 

“I don’t see why not,” he said seriously. Ambrose’s brow raised. 

“No, I was—”

Wyatt stopped him. “Why  _ don’t _ you stay out here? The church is becoming busy now, and out here it’s safe. There’s plenty of room in those barns—the house, too—and the horses might like a little freedom instead of those crowded Purgatory stables. There’s a hell of a lot more room here than that crowded little basement for you lot. What do you say, Fish?”

Ambrose prompted Wyatt. He was waiting for him to reveal this was a joke, then he’d retort with something of his own. But the way Wyatt was waiting, he wasn’t joking. Ambrose giggled happily at the offer and slung an arm around Robert, standing next to him in equal, frozen giddiness. “I say we should let Robert bring his friends up here more often! Thank you, Wyatt, thank you!”

-

“That cannot be true,” Wyatt stopped walking and hunched over, cackling. One of his new deputies, also one of Ambrose’s Assassins, did the same.

“And so,” the deputy went on, “the man gets up and starts chasin’ Robert, yellin’ some gibberish in French! Last time we ever let him talk in  _ any _ sort of foreigner language. Poor man’s tryin’ to enjoy a nice meal and here Robert goes, insultin’ his mother!”

Wyatt wiped a tear from his eye. “That boy was never one with words, English too. Ever hear about the girl Doc set him up with? Poor thing, she was so—”

“Mister Wyatt Earp, there you are! Jimmy, howdy.”

Wyatt and the Assassin-Deputy Jimmy stopped in their tracks patrolling the town, walking the streets. Awfully quiet today. Kind of nice. A blonde woman approached them on horseback. On first glance it was clear she was a different type than the rest, donning men’s clothing and pistols and rifles of her own. A bandolier of ammo was wrapped around her torso, a torn up old cowboy hat on her head. Or rather, cow _ girl. _

“Afternoon, Maggie. Good to see you,” Jimmy greeted. He smiled wide enough for Wyatt to let his guard down. He’d never seen this woman before, and an armed person on horseback calling his name was usually bad news. This Maggie looked the part, but she wasn’t a threat. 

She, Maggie, joked in good nature, “Good to see your ugly face alive. And havin’ a laugh with Wyatt Earp of all people. I’m gone for a few weeks and suddenly you’re charismatic? Will I see a flyin’ pig squealin’ around here, too?”

Jimmy laughed. “It is good to have you back, Miss.”

“I guess it is good to be back.” She met Wyatt’s eyes as she stroked her spotted horse, and offered him a friendly smile. “I’m Maggie, Mister Earp. Maggie Nedley.”

The rifle in Wyatt’s hands slung over his shoulder, and he tipped his hat in greeting. “Ma’am.”

“Our mutual second affairs needs tendin’ to. You’re free to join, too, Jimmy.”

“Oh no,” the man refused, “after the night I had, I think I’ll sit this one out. Spent two hours helpin’ that kid Jean find his horse. Think I’ll keep an eye on the town for ol’ Wyatt.”

“Lord, these poor people.” Maggie eyed Wyatt again. “Never let that man shoot; he’d miss the moon at zero paces.”

They backtracked to the jailhouse for Wyatt’s horse. Maggie said nothing of business, and Wyatt didn’t ask. It was best left until they were alone, away from nosy townsfolk. He noticed her look around and take the place in, the same way he did when he first arrived. She  _ was  _ new, then. Ambrose was calling in the cavalry? He had no doubts she’d lend them the help they needed. He wondered how Josephine would do in this life, all armed to the teeth. Doc’s wife seemed to fit into trouble just fine. How was Kate getting along alone, he wondered?

-

Maggie kept the same reservations until they left Purgatory behind. She led to the many miles of trees surrounding Purgatory. They’d make thousands off lumbering, for certain.

“Nice little town,” Maggie commented. Wyatt silently agreed. The people were kind enough, and ran things nice enough.

“You new here, Maggie? I don’t think I’ve seen you before. And I do think I’d remember someone like you.”

“Memorable,” she grinned, “that’s me! I’m Jimmy’s cousin. Jimmy’s been well, right? He’s got a knack for trouble.”

“He’s been just fine, I think. He’ll whine about his back every so often, but he’s been fine.”

“Boy’s gettin’ old, that’s for sure. I just got back from the states. I missed the last dance these boys had, but I’m here now for part two. Hard times, I heard. They lost the rings, their Mentor, and some really good men. Damn shame, this business.”

Wyatt nodded. “Damn shame, indeed. Now, about these ‘affairs’.”

“Right. Firstly, doin’ my daily kindness by savin’ you from one of Jim’s dull stories. Secondly, a woman was spotted. Constance Clootie. No luck catchin’ her, I understand, but there’s tracks to go on. Ambrose, Levi, and Robert were out there when I left. They wanted you there in case they found her. Found a whole mess up there.”

“Doc would be good here,” Wyatt sighed. “He was one hell of a tracker.”

“Well, I ain’t no Doc Holliday, but I’m a close second on trackin’.”

Wyatt was quiet for a bit. Purgatory’s land was really something else. Even his horse seemed content with the view.

“So, big lawman Wyatt Earp,” Maggie called from her side of the pathway, “what do you think of this case here? Strange, ain’t it?”

Wyatt wiped sweat from his brow. Just this morning it was freezing cold. “Miss, I think all of Purgatory is strange—right down to the name! This is unlike anything I’ve seen, and I’ve seen everything. Or I thought I did.”

He felt a wave of anxiety when he recalled the Jack of Knives. Sickest man he ever saw, no doubt. 

Maggie asked, “And Sheriff Clootie hidin’ because of you? What do you make of that?”

He found himself laughing. “I didn’t think I was such a scary man.” Maggie snickered, agreeing. “Perhaps it’s those rings you’re after, scaring him?”

“Well, if his brain’s goin’ soft, I think our job’s already done for us.”

Robert begging him to help already made Wyatt wary of the situation’s severity. He’d explained what the rings were, some type of magical items dating all the way back to the First Civilization and something about Adam and Eve and a long speech about the similar “Pieces of Eden” that needed to be hidden away rather than used by the Templars for evil. “Evil” here meaning the need to “save” humanity from their free will, so they could never cause atrocities again. A lawman versus magic! The odds weren’t in his favor. But now Clootie was hiding, and Wyatt was fearing the real antagonist was the items themselves. Then what? Hide them? Destroy them? How much did Robert trust Ambrose and his peers, exactly?

-

There was still some time left, not that they pushed their horses too roughly. Could be a chase later; it was precautionary. Maggie was not unlike Wyatt, didn’t speak unless spoken to. She was the quiet type, and there was something Wyatt liked about that. It let him observe the land and take in the country air. He hadn’t been out in open country air for some time now. Given Maggie’s southern accent, he guessed she lived in a place not unlike this, before joining the Assassins.

“Where you from, Maggie?”

She shrugged, making a face. “Around. My family used to move a lot when I was young. I suppose it became habit.”

“Sure. This life keeps you busy.”

“This life and the one before. I’m a widow, Wyatt.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Miss.”

“Maybe not. You one of those ‘death to the devil homosexual’ people? Because I am a  _ proud _ ‘homosexual’ and I’m not sorry to say I am widow to a woman.”

Wyatt smiled. She had a fire like Doc. “No, ma’am, I don’t think I want you to die.”

“Awful kind of you. ‘Homosexuals’,” she spat. “Not how I imagined makin’ a name for myself, but I’ll take it. I am happy to scare foul folk so full of stupidity and rage, oh yes.”

Wyatt chuckled.

“My lady was done in by a jealous man. She preferred me over him, so he killed her. So I killed him. And I don’t wanna hear no right/wrong debatin’, Mister lawman Wyatt Earp. He deserved it.”

“Oh no, I understand.”

Maggie nodded, happy. “Good. I went on the run. Took up the life of bounty huntin’ on account of my distaste for what they call ‘ladies work’. I ain’t no house cleanin’ type, Wyatt. If anythin’ I’m makin’ a  _ mess _ of houses. In this case, bloodyin’ up the place with men wanted by the government. Then I got this job, and it takes me to a double-lifed Assassin. I get caught up in their Templars squabble, decide I like the trade, and join. Bounty huntin’s a lonely life. A scary life, if you’re good at it. But it taught me at lot about trackin’. Mentor Dickenson had me look into the history of our friend, Clootie. My big report got delayed on account of his wife.”

Wyatt perked up. The only thing he knew about Sheriff Clootie was the man stole a magic ring from right under these peoples’ noses, had three wives, had a lot of degenerate friends, and was hiding from Wyatt. Not exactly a biography. “What did you find, if I may?”

“Well, for starters, he’s a traveler, too. Real busy one. Over the years he ran with several gangs, and changed his name so many times I’m not exactly sure what his real one is. He ran some gangs, too, tryin’ to preach some moral code to ‘em, but soon enough they all fell to greed. The fellas runnin’ around Purgatory are old friends of his, others he owed favors to.”

“Pay them back with an easy score, and have them build some form of gang,” Wyatt figured. Maggie nodded.

“His lady Constance, he met her in one of his gangs and married her. Mister Clootie was a decent man, in his day. Never shot an unarmed man, treated his friends right. Fed those who needed feedin’. He married his other two wives to be kind.”

Wyatt laughed. How was having three wives doing any kindness to anyone but him?

“Apparently they’re ‘faceless’. Bad run-in with fire. Marryin’ ‘em was provin’ he’s a fair man to fortunate and unfortunate people.”

“So he did it to make himself look better.”

“Yes, sir. Those three’re all he got. They’re a posse for life, maybe. Constance had his children, twin boys, and they joined the Templars here in Purgatory young. Somethin’ to remember: they were killed by Julian and Juan Carlo.”

“The old Mentor and his partner.”

“Yes, sir, in the big shoot-out they had. Quite a spectacle, I heard.”

Something to remember, indeed. “This isn’t about wealth or power for him. It’s about revenge.”

Maggie nodded. “The people we love can make us do things, alive or dead, good or bad. Mostly when they’re dead, and mostly bad.”

In Tombstone, Wyatt went on a vendetta ride against the Cowboys. They’d killed his brother, and took the arm of another. He killed, mercilessly, against the law. Every single Cowboy he could find, because they killed Morgan. Clootie was essentially doing the same thing; the Assassins took his sons. This was his vendetta ride.

-

Maggie Nedley was no liar. The moment they arrived on the scene, she followed a trail of horse tracks with no trouble, almost casually. Two Assassins had discovered Constance, robbing some travelers for their goods. They tailed her to a cabin in the woods, a place they were certain she “commandeered”. She and her sister-wives were here, talking to an unknown third party they were certain was not Sheriff Clootie. The voices didn’t match. One Assassin rode back into town to get the others. The second stayed behind to gather information. He was found dead. Hence the need to call in the Mentor and Wyatt for this one. (He told Robert not to underestimate Constance, and now Robert felt the fool.) Curiously, it looked as if the dead Assassin’s wounds were self-inflicted. Like it was a suicide. Was mind trickery on the table? And why, Wyatt wondered, weren’t the women with Clootie? Or had the pair simply missed him?

The information Maggie uncovered on Clootie was given on the trail. She recalled it like a simple folk tale as she examined tracks and clues, from horse hooves to a dead hunter. Another oddity: nothing was taken from the body, not even the game he killed. The horse tracks around him were scattered around, going in circles multiple times before leaving. A think imprint indicated one of them reared, probably in fear. The man appeared to be killed by harsh impact against a tree, like he was thrown. No human was strong enough to do that. Not to mention the impact point against the tree was seven feet off the ground.

They hit the prairies and the open road again. There was a faint blood trail, but not much else to go on. The soil was far less muddy, and far too many riders passed here for any horse tracks to be distinguishable. By now Maggie caught everyone up on Clootie’s past. Absent chatter turned to theory.

“Whoa, hold up!”

Wyatt stopped the group: Robert, Maggie, Levi, Ambrose, and the two others who joined up, Dave Wilder and Junko Ryota. He was in the back of their formation, eyes stuck on a ditch. Deep. Awfully near the homestead they were about to pass. His horse was uneasy. He dismounted and walked over to find five bodies: a father, a mother, and three young sons. He beckoned Maggie over for a second opinion, although he knew what he saw. The bodies were fresh. Fatal wounds, again appearing self-inflicted. There were stab wounds in each of their stomachs, blood stains on each of their own hands, a path showing it’d trickled down onto their pants and shoes. A single knife, apparently passed around, was present. The father’s eyes and jaw were wide open. He died in a state of terror.

There was a piercing screeching from the homestead’s barn, one that had Wyatt pulling his pistol in a blink. They all rushed over to check it, agreeing as a group with a few silent looks. Wyatt slung his shotgun over his shoulder for good measure.

They stopped by the barn doors. Voices inside. The screeching. A woman trying to calm its source, begging for it to silence.

“Mommy’s trying to help you,” she said. “I know it hurts, but you need to be quiet, okay? No, Drek! Drek! Be careful! You hurt yourself already! The Assassins are looking for us. You need to be quiet!”

It was confirmation enough. Wyatt and Ambrose, on the front lines, kicked the barn doors open. The inhabitants found three rows of guns. Two rifles in the back. Maggie’s shotgun, Levi’s pistol, and Robert’s twin revolvers in the middle. A crossbow and long-barreled Buntline Special, priming, in the front.

The woman was indeed Constance Clootie, by the look on Ambrose’s face, and she was accompanied by two men of the same height and same build. They cowered at the sight of the weapons and Constance screamed for the gun holders to leave. The boys’ faces were heavily mutilated, so much they barely looked human. Ambrose seemed stuck on their appearance, so Wyatt warned,

“Constance Clootie, you are under arrest. Come quietly or we’ll use force.”

“Dear God,” Ambrose gasped, and in his shock he lowered his bow, “those are the Clootie boys!”

“What?” Wyatt’s brow furrowed, but his stance and focus remained solid.

“But they’re supposed to be dead!” Robert said. “I saw them!”

All eyes went back on Constance. She placed herself defensively in front of the men as they cowered like children. She couldn’t deny it. She’d already called herself their mother, and what other reason kept her guarding them so furiously?

“Go away,” she snarled, unarmed but strong as stone.

“Show me your hands,” Wyatt warned. “The lot of you! Show me your hands!”

One of the twins screeched again, so loud that everybody’s hands were forced over their ears. The two charged for the door, for their foes, so Wyatt shot. Two bullets left his Buntline, skillfully, right for their heads. Instantly, most curious of all, they dissolved into piles of bones. Wyatt stared. Constance screamed.

“Wyatt Earp,” she cried, “you will  _ rue _ this day!”

She ran out the door opposite them. The group followed, trying to shake off what they’d just seen. Wyatt shot warnings at Constance’s feet. They needed her alive. They needed a lead on her husband. She sprinted past the house for a horse. The Assassins called for theirs just as two woman emerged from the homestead. Wyatt remembered seeing their hands rise in unison before he collapsed.

-

He was in a cave. A small fire burned. Boots paced, but he paid them no attention. Dozens of women screamed for it to stop. One grabbed him by the shirt collar and singled him out. He barely flinched, like he was frozen in place. Or perhaps like he didn’t care.

“How? How could you let this happen? How could you let him do this to me, Wyatt Earp?”

Blood oozed out of her mouth, a waterfall of its own right.

“I had my whole life ahead of me!”

She collapsed. Dead. Her torso was ripped open, her organs open to the world. Wyatt looked around. Every woman in the cave was the same. Their lifeless eyes begged him, cursed him, damned him.

“Aren’t they beautiful, Wyatt?”

The boots walked for him. All he did was stare, stare at the monster smiling back at him, looking so content and satisfied. The monster with perfect attire and perfectly kempt hair and hygiene. The monster who was such an ordinary man, one who could’ve been anyone or anything. The monster who happily chose to soil himself with blood.

He was not unlike Wyatt.

-

A canteen of water splashed against his face, awakening him. A scream left his lips. Someone held his hands, roughly. His jaw ached. His knuckles were red. He punched himself? His guns were missing, too.

“Wyatt, are you okay?” Robert. His fingers were bloody, and his glasses were cracked.

“I—I’m fine. Watch your hand, old friend.” Wyatt rubbed his head. ”Heavens, what happened?”

He looked around. Levi, holding a shaking Ambrose, whispering in his ear. One of the Assassins, Junko, sitting quietly. Maggie, covering up a dead body.

“I think it was mind magic,” Robert said. His voice was softer than usual, if possible. “Everyone had a nightmare. Maggie broke first. Dave killed himself with a gun and it woke her up. She saved us all.”

Wyatt felt defeated. How could he let this happen? He had enough time to shoot the faceless wives, but he didn’t. He hesitated, and now one of their own was dead. 

“Thank you, Robert, for helping me. I’ll take it the women ran off?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Wyatt nodded, his jaw clenched. His fists, too. “Okay. Let’s all pick ourselves up, then let’s dispose of those bones. We don’t need any more devilry.”

Robert nodded silently, before flopping down next to him. In the background, Maggie apologized to Dave. Levi kissed Ambrose. Junko prayed.

Wyatt wiped the water off his face. He had a sick feeling. Devilry. They were fighting devilry.

 

**_[ERROR: SOURCE [WYNONNA EARP] REMOVED]_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be three modern day chapters following up, and some whole upcoming chapters are totally completed. In other words, updates should be coming faster for the following chapters, definitely once a week. Though thirteen is super short so maybe I'll do a double update this week. Thank you so much for reading :)


	13. The Stuff of Miracles

_ October 21, 2016 _

“It’s clear, bro. Can I eat my sandwich now?”

“Check again.”

“I need a raise.”

Dolls heard rumors about the  _ esteemed _ Black Badge IT department. In which they never did extra work, talked at a pace that a dead person might find too slow, and just looked plain miserable all the time. Dolls wasn’t charismatic. He couldn’t talk circles around people to confuse them into doing his bidding. But he also wasn’t stupid. He knew the value of a crisp twenty dollar bill.

There was a hacker. He knew it. There had to be. There were people he knew for years that worked in these offices, and best of all he knew their same, robotic, formal, rude speech patterns. The emails he’d seen in the past weeks from peers were different. Odd. One even used the term “thank you”. Thank you! Even _A_ _Christmas Carol-_ like awakening or news of a terminal disease wouldn’t suddenly force them to use the blessed term, “thank you”.

At first he thought he was paranoid, making a big deal out of nothing, desperate to get  _ anywhere _ in his search for Wynonna Earp and her team. Then he had a conversation with fellow super soldier Eliza Shapiro, and she had the same suspicions. And apparently so did Lucado, because she’d ordered the same type of watchful eye Dolls was currently trying to force on a largely disinterested IT guy.

“Hold on a minute, what’s that?”

The guy took his feet off his brand new desk and leaned inches from his monitor. Interest on his face. Dolls stared with bated breath as he typed.

“Did you get it?” Dolls asked, impatient.

IT guy was silent, until, victoriously, he gave one last, dramatic click of keys and spun around to face Dolls.

“You  _ were _ right, Mister Doles, there’s a rat snoopin’ around. I’ll track him and send you an email.” He sipped from a soda on his cluttered desk, papers piled high. One had a crayon drawing on it. An official government document had a crayon drawing on it. “Now cough it up.”

“Okay, it’s  _ Dolls _ , and you’re getting nothing. Do your damn job.”

Dolls walked off, and the guy sighed.

“I gave up my lunch break for this!” he called.

-

Jeremy might’ve been dodging, jumping, and backflipping through virtual laser tripwires, but it was Waverly and Nicole who demanded silence for deep, vital concentration.

The days following the boat incident were busy. Wynonna wasn’t interested in the usual, careful schedule anymore. Having such a huge advantage and seeing a dude with lizard eyes made her more paranoid and more impatient than usual. She tackled all of Sequence 7 and 8 over two days, took one day off, and handled the remaining two the same as before. Currently, she was plowing through Sequence 10.

Usually it was Jeremy and Waverly who ran the Animus together. Jeremy kept an eye on vitals and did his own hacking work on the side. Waverly archived Wyatt’s experience and noted important or suspicious events, ones she’d go over the next day while Wynonna was supposed to be on break. For the most part with the new change they kept this up, with Waverly unfortunately having twice the evaluation to do in one day. Currently, Jeremy was busy with something, something involving stalling a huge development in the new Animus Black Badge hoped to syphon information from Willa’s lifeless genes with. Which meant Waverly was completely in charge of the Animus.

But, she decided, after several days of unbroken concentration and letting a computer screen burn her eyes out, she could use a distraction.

Which was why she and Nicole hovered over the desk Waverly was supposed to be working at, carefully dealing their cards. Literal cards, to stack. Into a house. Calamity Jane destroyed it twice already but they were going to make it to the ceiling, damn it!

They yelled in dismay when Jeremy suddenly shot up, cursed, and threw his laptop against the nearest wall. His action startled Calamity Jane, and the cat scurried past the desk and into the lower part of the mine. In her grand escape she grazed the table, and the entire stack toppled over. Waverly tossed aside the ace in her hand in defeat.

“You bastard cat!” Nicole whined.

Rosita took herself away from her mini-lab long enough to ask Jeremy if he’d been caught.

“No. No, I don’t think so.” His hands shook slightly and voice was quiet. “It wasn’t long enough.”

“That’s because you’ve got quick reflexes,” Waverly tried, and he busted a brief smile. He stared at the shattered remains of his device, like it was evil.

“I’m gonna keep an eye out,” he declared. Nicole stopped him, her hand firm on his shoulder when he passed her by.

“You go rest. I got it. But we’ll be okay. You know those idiots don’t pay attention to anything.”

Jeremy wasn’t convinced of anything other than the possibility he’d just gotten four perfectly fine people killed.

-

He could do without the funny looks as he injected the blue serum into his hip. His inhuman eyes flashed in response before they were blinked away. Someone audibly gulped.

Dolls looked around the small aircraft. The best team he could find, short notice or no, all armed to the teeth. Automatic rifles, tear gas, batons, and body armor complete with helmets. A couple guys had riot shields. He’d get them this time. 

Pictures of those who attacked Moody’s boat were taken with the use of hidden cameras on the vessel. The hacker was traced to an old mining camp, abandoned decades ago, in the middle of nowhere. They were going to fly in and take them by surprise. Recapture Wynonna Earp. Locate the longevity ring and use its properties to synthetize a better suppressant for the super soldiers that didn’t slowly kill its user. Dolls lost enough friends, and he didn’t plan on burying another. Or being buried next.

He stood and addressed his men.

“Before we arrive, I’d like to give you a reminder: our top priority is the capture of Wynonna Earp.” He passed around a picture. “She is not to be harmed, but if you absolutely have to, do not use excessive force.”

Second photo went around.

“Capture her sister, Waverly Earp, alive. Necessary force, only.”

Moody’s orders; use Waverly for incentive to keep Wynonna from resisting the Animus.

Third picture went around.

“Jeremy Chetri is suspected to be conspiring with the Earps. He is to be arrested for treason. Anyone else you kill on first sight. There are five in total, we suspect, and I advise you not underestimate them. Numbers are nothing; they’re smart and quick, so you need to be smarter and quicker. Good luck, gentlemen.”

-

Waverly joined Nicole on the top of the cliff. Jeremy insisted on giving her a break, no doubt to keep himself busy instead of guilty.

Turns out the view of their secluded workplace wasn’t so great in the moonlight. No, the real money was in the  _ daylight _ . A small part of Waverly wanted to stay up here, at the side of Nicole Haught, forever. Basking in nature’s vast beauty. Basking in  _ Nicole’s _ beauty, as the sunshine lit her hair in a golden glow, her dark eyes becoming a much lighter shade. That face she made when she thought something over.

The question’s answer wasn’t so simple. 

“Are you going to kill Moody?” 

Sure, she almost did it on his boat. Everything was so crazy and in the moment it felt like it was the only choice. She’d never considered it before. But now, now she didn’t know. Did anybody ever really deserve to die for their crimes? In terms of punishment, it was the easy way out. He’d skip the embarrassment of public exposure, the lengthy trial, the jail sentence. The knowledge he’d lost, and his “higher” sense of morals lost. The knowledge he didn’t get away with experimentation and kidnapping. Creating the super soldiers. Working Willa to death. She’d given in and killed Ewan. He had all but two minutes of loneliness and regret before he was done in. Eternal rest was a blessing for the weary, not a punishment.

On the other hand, Moody was powerful. He was running a secret organization for a federal division. The trial could be tampered with, if it happened at all, and he’d get to walk away scot-free, and things would go about as normal. So perhaps killing him was ideal. A dead man was a stopped man. 

Which one was more important? Punishment, or getting the job done?

Nicole sighed. “Honestly? I have no idea. Before, I wanted to—Oh shit. Oh, shit!”

An aircraft carrier. Headed straight for them, Black Badge’s supposedly-classified name and sigil plastered all about the thing.

Nicole and Waverly practically dove back down to the ground below. The second they called it in, Wynonna was forced out of the Animus. Team was armed and ready to go by the time they ran in, and Nicole barked commands as she slipped on her uniform and gear. Rosita tossed over what new mixes and bombs she’d completed.

“Earps, out! Now! Go to the van! Go!”

The sisters took a shotgun, Peacemaker, some faith, and ran. Nicole sent Calamity Jane scurrying, and for once the cat listened. Rosita and Jeremy got to work on destroying their findings. It was too late to try to hide them. At least the rings were buried safely, somewhere else. Nicole regretted not destroying them yet, like she intended. The external memory on CDs and flash drives were snapped and crushed. Waverly’s written notes burned. They didn’t get much done by the time boots shuffled down the mine’s halls.

“Freeze!”

Another faceless someone demanded, “Jeremy Chetri, you are under arrest for treason!”

Immediately, a cloud of smoke erupted. Not soldier tear gas. Nicole, almost on reflex. Gunshots blasted through, a good few shattering Jeremy’s personal laptop and the untransferred Animus files collected today and yesterday. The second throwaway one next to it was destroyed as well.

“Goodbye, fifty hours of Fallout 4,” Jeremy grumbled as he ran.

Nicole ushered Jeremy and Rosita into the lower level of the mine, where they’d first discovered Sheriff Clootie’s corpse and the ring he carried. Nicole revealed an escape route she’d dug out by hand and motioned the two out.

“Always got a backup plan, Haught!” Rosita said. This was good. They’d get out, regroup with the Earps, and drive off safely. Everything else could be sorted out later.

Except the part where Nicole closed off the exit and stayed behind.

“Hey,  _ est _ _ ú _ _ pida _ , what the hell are you doing?” Rosita was yelling. There was a small enough crack in the space for them to see each other.

“I’m buying you time! Go!”

“Nicole—”

“Go, please!” She eyed the entrance. Boots, shuffling down. “Go! Keep them safe! They need you!”

“They need you, too!”

“ _ Please. _ ”

The boots were closer, louder. There was no choice here, and the realization brought a closing feeling in Rosita’s throat and a blur to her vision. “Thank you. Thank you for  _ everything,  _ Nicole Haught.” 

Nicole smiled, whether or not she was staring into the face of death. “Thank you for always believing in me.”

If Jeremy hadn’t tugged her along, Rosita might’ve stayed.

Nicole smiled. This is how it had to be. She primed one of the new bombs, the one loaded with fear toxin, and faced the crowd pouring in. She tugged the hood of her uniform up.

-

Dolls had no interest in the mine, and zero interest in getting revenge on Nicole for always managing to slip away and make his life a thousand times harder. He tracked the Earp sisters as he descended from the aircraft, watching them sprint into the forest. He and a handful of soldiers chased after, even as they tried trickery by constantly changing direction and shooting over the shoulder. Dolls didn’t fall for it. He  _ couldn’t. _

His luck took a turn for gold when the sisters tripped over a tree root and fumbled completely over each other. They were ahead, but he was willing to push himself.

The sisters struggled, as Wynonna’s foot was knotted up in the winding branch. Waverly looked back on the soldiers, to her sister, and to the soldiers. She beat the root with her shotgun until it let up, Wynonna’s foot slipping up and out of her boot. Waverly looked back, forth. Soldiers, Wynonna. Distance closing. They couldn’t keep a short length up for long, not with the way they’d been running top speed for so long already. She said her plan before Wynonna could scream her refusal.

“Don’t waste this!” Then Waverly was sprinting for Dolls, shotgun shells emptying left and right.

“WAVERLY!” Wynonna shoved on her boot and stood so fast she tumbled over herself.

“Go! Don’t let this be for nothing!”

The split second Wynonna took to make her decision felt like an eternity passing in slow motion. A traitorous venom entered her as she let her baby sister willingly get herself arrested, running to professional soldiers and shooting like a woman unhinged. Dolls, telling his team to wrangle her as he took on Wynonna, alone. The earth parting below her feet as she continued for Nicole’s van, her vision clouded and her soul ablaze.

No, she couldn’t do this. She stopped running. Planted her feet. Emptied Peacemaker’s last two bullets. The first grazed Dolls’s shoulder, and the second hit a tree. He yelped in pain and stumbled in his step, and Wynonna dashed right over to punch him. A second time, to vent her frustration. He dodged the incoming third and returned a watered-down punch of his own, but she grabbed his fist and slapped him across the face.

“You took my sister, you motherfucker!”

“Come quietly,” Dolls coughed, “and she’ll see no harm.”

To that, Wynonna punched him in the gut. “You are in no position to—Bear! Bear!”

Dolls shoved Wynonna as the beast charged for them. She fell against a tree and lost her balance. It charged again, for her, and with Peacemaker empty her only hope was to masterfully, fatally stab it with Nicole’s passed-down hidden blade. She could do that, right? Of course! It’s a freakin’ bear! Just stab it!

Luckily, Wynonna Earp: Bear Slayer would never hit the market, because Dolls began shooting at it with his Glock. Small damage to a giant monster, but sure. It turned around, almost unfazed, and completely threw Dolls over. His Glock fell away, and his comms fell out of his ear before it was crushed.

Wynonna was at a crossroads. It should’ve been in her best interest to let Xavier Dolls get done in by a hungry, angry bear. But on the one hand it was cruel. Dolls was the middle man, after all, doing this to protect himself. He was just a pawn in a screwed up game.

_ Damn it.  _ She stood up, clicked the blade open—and stopped running. 

Dolls’s creepy lizard eyes returned. He roared inhumanly. And breathed. Fire. From. His. Mouth.

Dear God, Devil, and Betty White. Xavier Dolls was a freakin’  _ dragon _ . (Was that cool or mortifying?)

He pushed the charred corpse off of his body and stood, coughing and wheezing like a madman. He felt around his pockets. Wynonna snatched his thrown away Glock and smacked him again.

“Hey,” she pacified him at gunpoint, “no sudden moves, you walking pizza oven! I  _ will _ go all Dragonborn on you. ‘ _ Fus Ro Dah’ _ , and shit. I don’t care how cool that was! Or the fact I’m super turned on right now!”

Dolls ignored her. He fumbled around his cargo pants for his medication, the blue liquid in the small tube, and injected it with a contraption from a bigger pocket extending down his leg. The lizard eyes dissolved away, and he huffed long breaths.

He mumbled, “Damn it, that’s two in one day!” 

He looked up at Wynonna. His own Glock aimed for him, a crazy look on her face. 

“Killing me will only make things worse for you.”

“I’m not killing you, lizard brain, I’m holding you hostage! Come on, up you go. We’re gonna make a transaction.”

Dolls expressed his protests with a lengthy sigh, before complying. His men arrested Waverly. Arrested her sister, her family. He knew she’d shoot the second he tried something, and she’d make it  _ hurt. _

He reluctantly played along as they went, hands in clear view and checking the coal marks Wynonna told him to. When he commented on the system, she told him to quiet down. He almost yelled just to spite her. Right now he longed for Superman-esque bulletproof powers. She’d be a lot easier to catch if she was a frozen statue.

He turned over another. From four to three scratch marks. They were getting closer. Wasn’t too late to try to spin this. “The Assassins—”

“Are evil murderous assholes, blah, blah, yeah.”

Not the plan, but sure.

“Their poor leadership got my sister killed by your people,” Wynonna added, “and if you’ve got the time Nicole can give you the inside scoop.”

“Why stay with them, then?” Dolls flipped the coal marker back over, standing and resuming the pace. “Why stay with people you don’t like?”

Wynonna scoffed at the irony of that. Dolls didn’t seem like a BBD cheerleader, himself. “Because they’ve got people like Nicole and Rosita, and you’ve got people like Lucado and Moody. And over here, there’s no begging for lifelines, druggie.” She touched the gun barrel to his back. “What is up with that, huh?”

“If my powers aren’t suppressed, I’ll devolve into something.”

“Something what?”

“Something not good. Black Badge created us, so they’re the only ones who can administer the drugs.”

“But the drugs are killing you.”

“Unless we get the longevity ring. It’s the fastest path to a real cure. Everything else they’ve tried has failed, and we’re running out of time.”

“Well, Rosita’s a great—”

“No. I don’t trust someone unfamiliar with it.”

“Sure, because the people who  _ are _ familiar with it are doing such a stellar job. So what, you’d rather suffer with Black Badge? What happens when you piss off Moody? He’ll probably just string you along on the bare minimum. For an illness  _ he _ gave you.”

There was a funny break in Dolls’s step, one that left Wynonna’s eyes wide in the realization this exact thing  _ was _ happening.

But she was interrupted at the sound of someone calling her name. Close. Again, they called, and she laughed in relief. It was Nicole!

She motioned Dolls in the new direction of her friend and practically skipped along. “God, Haught, I missed your stupid, bossy v—”

“Wynonna, run!”

Her smile instantly died. It was Nicole, alright. Held at gunpoint, like Dolls. And now like her with the three rifles aimed right on her. Dolls immediately stole back his gun, as well as Peacemaker from her hip.

Nicole was alone, handcuffed, and bruised. Her bandolier and gauntlet were missing and she wore a horrified look of defeat. One that spread contagiously as Wynonna was cuffed, too.

“Excellent work, men,” Dolls said, everything but a glowing smile to him. “Did you get the others?”

“Still looking, sir. No eyes on Jeremy Chetri, and it’s possible Waverly Earp escaped,” a helmeted goon replied. In front of him, Wynonna exhaled. “Should we execute the Assassin now? We broke orders to find you. There was chatter you weren’t answering on your comms. Figured this one knows the area best.”

“Keep her for now. If the others turn up, she’ll be executed.”

“Asshole,” Wynonna bit. Dolls just threw her a look.

“If not, she can lead us to them. The rings they stole, as well.”

Wynonna turned to Nicole. “What’s the plan? How do we get out of this one?”

To Wynonna’s horror, Nicole just shook her head. “There is no plan, Earp.”

Dolls led the team back to the aircraft. In the distance, three figures watched, defeated. They had no choice but to leave, to get in their van and drive off. 

One of the figures, Waverly Earp, felt her world crashing down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry team, Calamity Jane's on the case
> 
> I'm sorry these past two've been kinda short, not really sure what's up with that. I do know the next one's bound to be longer, around 6k when I checked it. Should be up next week! (and there are a bunch of fluffy Wayhaught scenes comin' up throughout this arc, lemme tell ya)


	14. Calamity, Hold the Jane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING for blood, a mildly graphic stabbing, and medical aftercare (suturing) this chapter (I’m so sorry)
> 
> Lookie here, Mister 6k evolved into 9k… hmm…
> 
> In all honesty, this chapter was a tough one, namely the second half. The second half and some scenes from following chapters were written as concepts during my last big multichapter piece, but ultimately didn’t make the cut. But they’re basically responsible for this story existing, because I thought the team as underdogs running from someone big would make for something interesting. What I’m saying is these scenes have been gutted and rewritten and such a million times. I’ve been super nervous about them because they’re very emotionally charged and the character injury you’ll see here was not an easy thing to write, and probably won’t be an easy thing to see. I hope I got this and those future scenes set in a way that’ll work, with the difficult direction this arc will take these wonderful characters. I do hope you enjoy :)

_October 23, 2016_

“You should stop resisting, before they move to drastic measures.”

Wynonna jumped at the sound of Dolls’s voice. She didn’t hear him enter. Too deep in thought.

Days were passing. Wynonna hadn’t seen Nicole, once. Hadn’t heard a single thing about her sister. There was a team sent back to loot the mine, but they couldn’t recover the destroyed Animus files they found. Wynonna tried tricks, saying she’d stopped her search in 1890, but Lucado didn’t believe her. She wouldn’t risk it. She had Wynonna pick up from where she searched the last time she was here, in late 1886. Two years before the actual interest. There was time to stall, but only so much. To buy more time Wynonna faked sickness, put on a fake mental episode, and purposefully failed syncs, once she found a way to will herself to do so.

She felt so useless. Defeated. She shouldn’t have listened to Jeremy and Rosita. If she did what she usually did and ignored instruction, she could’ve plowed through sequences instead of taking so many breaks. They would’ve been done! Waverly wouldn’t be a wanted fugitive! It was only a matter of time before Lucado started threatening Gus. Would it be morally wrong to single out Nedley? His ancestor was there, too. Even then, he was probably too big a target. The whole town knew him. He was the sheriff, one who spent every Happy Hour at Shorty’s playing the part of a social butterfly. If his daughter was taken, he’d be relentless.

Chosen One by default. At least deep down she was still the same mediocre nobody she’d always been.

She side-eyed Dolls, not caring to look him dead on. “Goody, I love threats.”

Wynonna stood from where she sat on her room’s lone bed, and crossed to meet Dolls by the door. This place wasn’t a cell, but more like a hotel room. There was the bed, a private bathroom with a door, and a dresser full of unformed clothes fit for a prisoner. At least she had her favorite jacket this time. The only thing missing was a TV. And actual freedom.

Dolls didn’t move from the door, like he feared she’d try to make a break for it. With his messed up shoulder she probably could. Good thing he healed a little faster than normal people.

She finally looked at him, with eyes daggered, and hissed, “What’re you even doing here? Taunting me?”

“I’m here to do you a favor. If you keep resisting, you’re going to get hurt. Lucado is relentless.”

Wynonna scoffed. “You can’t threaten me, you asshole, not while you’re interrogating my friend and slapping a wanted poster on my sister.”

He had no reaction. It was infuriating, how he just stood there, face and body like stone. “We have a job to do. They’re interfering with government business, so they need to be handled like criminals. I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not, you stupid lackey. Even with what they did to Willa, and everything they did to you, you’re still a walking BBD Pride parade.”

Reaction: his brow furrowed in confusion. “You mean when _your_ people broke in here and slaughtered her?”

She crossed her arms and nodded. “Ah, that’s what they told you, huh?”

“That’s what _happened_ ,” he defended.

Wynonna actually laughed. At this point, people not believing her truth was so common all she could _do_ was laugh about it. “Sure. I’m just imagining the night you thugs broke into our house and kidnapped her for your own personal gain. And the files and footage— _hours_ of evidence—Jeremy found on her. The constant sicknesses, the constant episodes, multiple revivals, hours so long in that _fucking_ machine she couldn’t tell what was real and what was fake, to the moment she lost the will to live and died of exhaustion. Or the emails Jeremy’s been intercepting for the machine they’re building to defile her corpse to get their precious information. Yeah, Dolls, you caught me! I’m a fucking storyteller now!”

She was shouting, her voice was breaking, and tears threatened to fall.

She wasn’t lying.

Dolls didn’t say anything. He just left.

He tried to dismiss it. It was a scam. She was Wynonna Earp, the woman with a long criminal record and partial “income” revolving around cheating, gambling, and stealing. Of course her words rattled his mind; they were meant to. Didn’t mean it was true.

Wait.

Jeremy Chetri. Jeremy Chetri was fired for trying to expose something. Something they labeled a baseless conspiracy.

He pulled out his phone. Then he put it back. This was stupid. He couldn’t _email_ a criminal wanted for _treason_ and ask him his opinion. But then Jeremy always seemed like a nervous guy, far the type from a lying—

God damn it. The phone was back in his hands.

**XAVIER DOLLS: Hey. Tell me what happened to Willa Earp.**

“Damn it, Xavier! This is treason!”

His voice bounced all around the empty elevator, and echoed in his mind like a canyon.

He didn’t listen to himself. He sent it.

Dolls cursed and jammed the phone back into his pocket. On the way out of the building he masked this rare personal crisis and waved as casually as possible to a passing work friend and rushed to his SUV. Lucado wanted him to personally check out the mine, see if they missed anything. Moody was more interested in Wynonna’s team and wanted him to check for the missing members at the Gibson greenhouse and Earp homestead once more, too. No matter how many times Lucado insisted the team was no bother, Moody wanted them arrested anyhow. Dolls slumped down in the driver’s seat, cursed himself again, and slapped the steering wheel.

His phone buzzed.

**[EMAIL FROM JEREMY CHETRI]**

He was not expecting a reply.

“Ignore it, idiot.”

He opened it.

Email screenshots. Camera feeds. A direct, unsubtle order from Moody on Willa’s death day to “cover it up”.

**XAVIER DOLLS: Will you leak this to the public?**

**JEREMY CHETRI: [shrug emoticon]**

Dolls’s finger hovered over the play button.

-

_October 24, 2016_

“ _‘I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts’_ —”

The door slammed open suddenly, and something heavy fell against the ground with a _thud._ Wynonna was sitting completely upside-down on the ground, legs supported in the air by the room’s bland white walls, and her vision was blocked by the bed next to her. She rolled her eyes to face today’s exhilarating line of threats.

“Hey, you bag of d—”

“Hey, partner.”

Nicole Haught. Alive. Some greasy guard’s gun on her, but alive. She put on a forced, pained smile for her friend, her body stiff and bruised. Wynonna was stuck particularly on the scrape that framed her left eye. She was kneeled on the ground, her hand clutching her side. Her Assassin uniform jacket was missing, replaced by the same black shirt and nonsense numbers Wynonna was wearing.

“You will have an audience today, Earp.” Lucado entered the room, with some sense of victory to her. Wynonna looked on her, then back on Nicole, who waved a hand.

“You know me,” Nicole was trying to bring Wynonna some kind of ease, “I love to watch a woman work.”

“Cooperate,” Lucado threatened further, “or we’ll use _her_ to make you cooperate.”

“How kinky,” Wynonna mumbled. “Say, is it totally ethical for a government operation to torture? It’s a little different in Canada, I think. And what about unwarranted surveillance on innocent old ladies? Don’t think that’s right, either.”

Lucado defended, “The cameras and bugs on your aunt and your homestead are offline. I’ve redirected those resources here, just for you. Your only concern should be getting the job done.”

“Can I get a briefing again? I don’t—”

A guard was dragging her off before she could finish. She was forced down the hall and into the growing-familiar Animus chair. Her eyes fell on Nicole. All she did was nod reassuringly. So calmly, as if to say everything was going to be alright. Wynonna tried to let that energy wash over before she felt a pricking in her neck and succumbed to the machine.

-

**_[END: SEQUENCE 37, MEMORY 315]_ **

Wyatt Earp was a blarfably romantic type. The bulk of the last memory Wynonna completed was him and his lady, on a romantic night. Dinner, a show, the works. And, thank the heavens, nothing else afterwards. There was no interest here in old west porn, starring Great-Great Grandpa Wyatt Earp.

Wynonna’s vision and total consciousness faded back into an empty room. The usual guards weren’t at their posts, and Lucado wasn’t hovering over computer screens with the Animus’s sleep-deprived operator. It was just Nicole, across from her.

“I was told to tell you, you have a ten minute break,” she said.

Wynonna examined Nicole, handcuffed to a chair. “Funny, usually _I’m_ the one getting cuffed to something.”

Nicole tried to wink but accidentally closed both eyes and winced at her messed up left eye. “Maybe later.”

“Where’s Lucado?”

“No idea. She rushed off to do something after her phone went off. She looked spooked. Guards went with her, but I’m pretty sure they’re by the door. Probably hoping we’ll talk or something and they can eavesdrop.”

“That’s so dumb it might work.” Wynonna sat up in the extended chair, separating her legs so her feet could touch the ground. “Did you tell them anything?”

Nicole’s shoulders flexed. Not in a way of escape but a way of stretching. Her hands were stuck behind her for a good few hours now. “Oh, I totally told them everything. My whole life story, why I hate the color yellow, the time my dog literally ate my homework—”

“Hang in there, Phoenix.” Wynonna laughed, shaking her head.

“Roger, Lone Wolf,” she returned, and Wynonna looked impressed.

“Huh. I actually really like that one.”

The two jumped when a blaring alarm broke the peace, no doubt echoing through the entire building. They looked around, as if to find the source.

“Hey,” Nicole said, “I think I unlocked the secret boss.”

The door suddenly burst open, and without pause guards took the pair back to their cells. Lucado rushed to shut everything down. So Wynonna cackled.

“Get fucked, you washed up old bag!”

She saw Lucado leave in a panicked hurry, mumbling under her breath and cursing.

-

No convenient giant vents, and no windows. The lock was electronic. The door was too heavy to burst through Kool-Aid Man style. All she could do was pace. Those alarms had to be for her team—she didn’t want to sit around like some damsel!

She sighed loudly. “So this is what Princess Peach feels like, huh?”

She stopped. Something crashed against the door. Then another something. Then silence. Hold on, what were the odds of a feral lizard man going about the place? The lock buzzed open. Did feral lizard men know how to use keypads?

“Hi!”

Nope, Not a lizard man. Quite the opposite. A little angel with a steaming shotgun.

The Earp sisters crashed together in a hug, Wynonna holding Waverly so tight her grip threatened to break some bones.

When they separated, it was back to business. Waverly handed her Peacemaker and her gun belt, explaining she’d found it by mistake in Lucado’s office across the hall. Lucado herself seemed to be missing. Wynonna checked the ammo. Waverly redid her messy ponytail.

“Really?” Wynonna asked. Waverly kept fiddling with her hair.

“What? It gets in the way!”

Wynonna rolled her eyes. “You’re such a girl.”

Waverly chose to ignore that. “Do you know where Nicole is? Rosita can’t seem to find her.”

“No idea. I only just saw her today.”

Waverly looked upset to hear that. “O-okay. Well, you’re first priority. We’ll have to leave Nicole to Rosita.”

Wynonna stopped her on the way out. “You sure?”

“Nope. Let’s go!”

They peeked out the open door, then ran down the empty hall for the building’s only elevator. Bodies were scattered everywhere. One guy had a huge, cartoony lump on his head.

“Haught better be—Jesus, baby girl, did you do all this yourself?”

Waverly didn’t turn back to answer, just kept moving. “I had help. Jeremy’s been messing with the lights, and I used those new bombs. Rosita started a big riot somewhere else and diverted most of the attention, before she started looking for Nicole.”

“Wish I could’ve seen it. What else? Learn Karate, too?”

Waverly snorted. “Maybe next time.”

Most of the guards were trying to chase Rosita on the fourth floor. She was currently on the fifth. She even managed to take away most of the herd gathered on Wynonna’s floor, thus making it even remotely possible to spring her in the first place. Jeremy warned some lingered on the way down, especially near the ground floor elevator exit. No one thought to guard the two staircases. Waverly stopped them on the second floor, then led her sister down the hall to the stairs not so close to the elevator. Also closest to the front doors.

They stopped midway down the hall. Three goons turned a corner. Wynonna was fast on a reaction, faster than she thought possible of herself. She planted her back foot, and somewhere she saw her ancestor smile as as three bullets skillfully launched from her gun barrel, the cylinder turning on command, the way it was trained, and took each of the men before they could take her. This felt different from the forest, when she was against Dolls in such a desperate, maddening time. Now she felt the same electricity in her veins Wyatt did when he downed his own foes, those who blocked him from justice. Today, with her sister by her side, she felt more hopeful.

Next she found herself applying teachings from a friend. Teachings in martial arts. Two men got the jump on them emerging from the stairwell, bursting through the door before the Earps could open it. One pushed Waverly back, so hard she fell and lost her gun. The other grabbed Wynonna and shoved her into the stairwell. A third was waiting inside. She did them in with a bullet and turned to do the same to the second. Second wrestled Peacemaker from her and aimed it, but she knew he wasn’t about to shoot her. It was the one upside to all this. Made her feel untouchable.

Wynonna went for the kick. Right for the knee, and when the man buckled over and dropped his personal gun she went for a punch. He countered and hit her in the gut. She stepped back and took her best fighting stance.

“Bring it on, G.I. Joe.”

The man put Peacemaker down at his boots, and cracked his neck and knuckles almost dramatically before diving in. Wynonna let him attack first. She dodged the strong punch he used his whole body to unleash, grabbed his extended arm, and shoved him into a wall. His clearly thrown-on ballistic vest ate most of the damage, but he was stunned enough for her to push him across the way. Closer to the descending steps.

Over here they immediately fell into a grapple that quickly turned into a power struggle. Wynonna’s aim was to throw ol’ Joe down the stairs. Joe saw this and wanted to get her and himself away from the stairs entirely. He won with a head butt that sent Wynonna reeling backwards. He jumped on the opportunity, while she was off-balance, to try to tackle her to the ground. The second Wynonna saw him run, an idea came over her. She stepped from the way at the last minute, grabbed his shoulder, and ran alongside his momentum to toss him back into the hall. His head hit the door when she stumbled to catch his balance, and he fell completely over.

Wynonna was quick. She grabbed Peacemaker from the ground and forced him to surrender with it. She wanted to smile at the sight. She’d gotten into more than her fair share of scrapes in the past, but she’d never won before. She never had the skills. Or the will. She took a moment to savor the victory before shooting him.

It was all the celebration she could get. Right now she needed to find Waverly. She followed the sounds of gunfire around the corner. Waverly had her shotgun back, by the sound of it. But it also sounded like there was more than one pistol with her. Good luck: it was Rosita or Nicole, or both. Bad luck: extra enemies. She peeked around the corner. Bad luck it was.

But maybe good, too, because the opposition’s back was to her. She shot one in the leg and the other in the chest when he turned around. Waverly dashed over and knocked the first out.

“You good, baby girl?”

They met in the middle of the hall, but Waverly shouted in her face, “YES!” She put a finger to her ear. “But I think I’m going deaf!”

Wynonna started them off. “Earplugs next time, got it.”

-

There was no more trouble down the stairwell. Waverly reported they were about to exit, but no response came. Worrisome; Jeremy not responding meant he was busy. Helping Rosita, no doubt. She hoped Rosita and Nicole were about to leave, with them. With both their gauntlets missing, it wasn’t like either could sneak off to the roof and grapple down. They didn’t come this far to lose.

The Earp sisters made visual contact with the front doors. The _front doors._ All they had to do was run out and meet Jeremy in the employee parking lot, hiding in plain sight. If executive parking directly outside didn’t have so many security checks, he probably would’ve stayed there. Perhaps in Moody’s space, and key Lucado’s car next to it.

Someone fired at them from down the hall just as they turned the final corner. Fine. One small shootout, _then_ they’d be home free. It was only a few men, with pistols. No one here had automatic rifles. Wynonna thanked Moody’s deep trust issues.

The two left the main office archway and its metal detector, listening to it chirp and whine, as they rushed into the lobby and behind the thick, circular help desk pushed against a wall. No employees in sight. Poor desk jockeys were probably huddled in a janitor’s closet somewhere.

Unofficially, and a little tiny bit unintentionally, the sisters were silently competing with their shooting. But somehow also working together. Waverly’s shotgun blasted the guys who got too close and Wynonna went for the ones farther away. Was never a good distance shooter, but hey, never too late, right?

Seeing as they had the only exit from the offices covered, most of their foes jumbled together behind the mail cart abandoned in the hall or plain ran somewhere else for cover. A few tried to shoot them up close, but the Earps were far faster. Waverly used the fear and sleep bombs until they were all gone. Her shotgun shells were quickly depleting, too. Jeremy was still busy with Rosita. Hopefully helping her get down here with Nicole. Wynonna took a risk and snatched a run right out of a guy’s hand when he tried to vault over the counter into their space and handed it off to her sister. How much men were there, here?

The next wave of enemies called for cease-fire. The Earps humored them, because they insisted it was in their best interest.

Four men entered the slaughterhouse lobby, the polished marble floors now a lake of blood, with a frontman bearing a wolf’s smile. Two of them held a hostage. Nicole. She struggled at the sight of the Earps, but fell short. The Earps froze in place, too shocked to bother with hiding behind cover.

“Surrender,” the leader of the group ordered, “and we won’t kill her.” He motioned them forward. “Go on now, drop your guns.”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Nicole warned, and for once even Waverly had no interest in listening.

The sisters left the help desk, met the team, and tossed their weapons aside. Nicole struggled, harder, until a punch to the gut sobered her. The Earps yelled their protests as she coughed.

“You have to get out of here!” Nicole pleaded. She felt frustration when her stubborn teammates shook their heads.

“We’re not leaving you behind,” Wynonna said. Waverly nodded in agreement.

Jeremy called Waverly’s line on her comms. Rosita was on her way, but was still far. There was only one thing she could do, in this helpless situation.

Keep them talking.

“Come on, ladies,” the leader said again, “let’s go. Step into the hall, and nobody gets hurt.”

Waverly grabbed Wynonna’s arm to still her, because she was actually going to comply. The man let off an annoyed expression. Nicole looked a little more hopeful.

The guard looked directly to Waverly and warned, “No tricks, Wynonna Earp. You’ve lost.”

“ _I’m_ Wynonna, you nutsack,” the correct Earp spat. But she was catching onto what Waverly was doing, the way her eyes suddenly went wide with false confusion. “Or am I?”

“Enough of this!” He motioned one of his men along, the third of the four who wasn’t holding down Nicole or making threats. “My shift’s almost up, and I’ve had a long day. I’d like to hurry this along.”

Before anyone could breathe or think to take any form of action, a knife was plunged into Nicole’s back. Fitting, given these men’s dishonor. Waverly begged for them to stop, and Wynonna let off threats. The knife only made its way lower, deeper into Nicole’s already worn flesh.

Wynonna couldn’t bear this; Nicole’s pained face and stifled screams she was too tense and too tough to release fully. Waverly begging, in her stead, for it to stop, but also too stubborn to surrender. That asshole soldier’s borderline gleeful expression, like this was a game to him.

Nicole was her ally. Teacher. Friend. Saved her on multiple occasions. Took in Waverly, and watched her back, always. Trained Wynonna. Gave her a purpose. Got her to stay on that first night. Got her to act like a hero, for once. The heroic Earp name she’d forever soil instead of hold up.

_There will be a time, Wynonna, when you must make tough choices. You will not make the right one, because there is no right one. Just the lesser of two evils._

Wyatt Earp’s voice echoed in her head.

_One life for dozens._

_I do pray you’ll be smarter and more moral than I._

The conversation was a figment of her imagination, from her damaged mind suffering a negative reaction to the Bleeding Effect. Taking it seriously was silly.

But it felt so real.

_One life for dozens._ Wyatt risked Anne, the innocent woman, to gain a trail on the Jack of Knives. Her death saved dozens from being killed the same, when Jack was put down. Wynonna put it together; Nicole was Anne. The dozens was the team, Waverly, and whoever Black Badge’s advances would hurt, if they were to get the final ring.

No. No! That was crazier! Giving up Nicole wasn’t an option. They weren’t losing anyone, ever. They were in this together, all of them. There was always a better way. Waverly would want her to find a better way. She was supposed to be better than who she was before all this. She’s not a bum who causes trouble, not anymore. She’s a chosen one of some sort. A hero, maybe. Someone moral. Someone who’s supposed to care, most of all for her peers.

She wasn’t Wyatt. Her gun couldn’t solve everything evil in the now vastly complicated world. She wasn’t a legend or a guardian of the innocent. She was just a girl stuck in a heap of trouble, her natural element, with the power to do something.

The power to do something.

Something only someone like Wynonna Earp could do: something crazy, and gamble the chaos would blossom into order.

She stepped forward, her hands raised in surrender. She ignored Waverly’s pleas to stop, and swatted her grip away. The knife in Nicole stopped its track, the opposing men smiling in a devilish manner.

“I will give you everything you want. I won’t fight. I’ll go peacefully.” Wynonna indicated her sister, then Nicole. “But you let them walk. All you need is me. No one needs to get hurt.”

Guy in charge nodded. It took everything not to smack the grin off his face. “Deal.”

Nicole wasn’t on board. Waverly wasn’t on board. In the van, Jeremy was trying to locate Rosita, who’d stopped answering, and change the odds. Wynonna allowed herself to hold onto the remnants of her core, and ignored her team’s protests. This was the only way they could survive. As difficult as it was to brush off the looks on their faces. Nicole’s, of disappointment. Waverly’s, of dread. Like Wynonna was signing her own death certificate.

She told Nicole to heal fast, and bid farewell to her sister as she teared up. The men, in fear she was trying something, threatened Wynonna when she pulled Waverly into a hug. They were right to do so, because she _was_ trying something.

“Lucado said eyes and ears are off the homestead. Take Nicole home, Waverly. And don’t you dare let her die.”

As if Waverly needed permission. Wynonna wasn’t blind; she knew those two had some sort of connection. Like best friends or something.

She kissed her baby sister on the forehead and gave her shoulders one last squeeze. Then she was off with two of the men, and Waverly watched her disappear into Black Badge’s custody once again. After everything she’d been through since the mine attack, trying to get her back. After all the fighting she did, today alone. After all that time back in September, back when this all started.

Of all the times Wynonna left her behind, this was the most painful.

And now, after Wynonna’s biggest exit yet, guns were turning on Waverly.

“Hey,” she gasped, “we had a deal!”

“We did,” the lead man returned. “Doesn’t mean we gotta keep it.”

Nicole panted, “That’s kinda the whole point to a deal, asshole.”

Jeremy nodded from where he was listening in. The one person still holding Nicole upright let go, and she smashed against the marble below.

“Assholes,” Waverly snarled.

The guns fired. Waverly flinched, gasped—and felt nothing? She heard something. Someone, grunting. In pain. Not Nicole.

Her eyes shot open. Rosita was in front of her, and a cloud of smoke engulfed them. Her face was scrunched up in pain. Was she shot? She took a bullet for Waverly?

“Ros—”

“Go,” she stopped, grunting. “Waverly, go! Get Nicole out of here! I’ll hold them off! Don’t wait for me, go! Drive somewhere safe!”

If she weren’t alone or freshly shot, it’d be an easier command to follow. She threw Waverly from where she was frozen to Nicole’s direction, before disappearing in the smoke to emphasize her demands.

Rosita was the Mentor; she was in charge. Assassins weren’t supposed to be sentimental. They were supposed to get the job done. They fought for good, by any means. The world needed Nicole. Her skills, her knowledge. The world needed Jeremy’s brilliant brain, Waverly’s brilliant passion. They couldn’t stay, not like this. So she scraped Nicole off the red floor, painted by the enemies she’d faced and the friend she loved, grabbed a discarded pistol and shot off the handcuffs restraining her, threw her jacket over Nicole’s ripped-open shirt and long wound, grabbed a discarded pistol, and ran for it.

The joy she thought she’d feel leaving the double doors was gone, washed over by terror instead. They shouldn’t have stopped to fight. They should’ve kept going. Waverly would much rather be the injured one over Nicole, and would much rather be the one getting shot than Rosita.

She supported Nicole’s failing balance alone as she pushed across the road. Jeremy announced he was on his way. She could hear the screeching of the tires over the comms. She was trying to cut time in half, so they could all meet in the middle.

She tried to calm Nicole’s shallow breaths, terrified her accelerated heart rate would ooze out more blood than there already was trying to fix it.

She had flashbacks to when Dolls shot Nicole. The whole team had been petrified, when she didn’t answer their calls. On top of that, her body cam chose an unfortunate time to freeze, too. But she was lucky to walk away from it all, with a tiny graze to show for it. This was different. This was a serrated blade, piercing skin and who knows what else. This was rapid blood loss and no safe, remote mine to hide and recover in. This was bedrest, for a time on the run. This was much, much scarier than a bullet graze.

More so when Nicole’s legs failed her and she fell from Waverly’s side and onto the asphalt.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Waverly tried with every atom of her being not to lose her cool. She circled around just in time to catch sight of two men inbound. Her handgun instantly lost two bullets.

She reached for Nicole’s hand, but it refused to be taken. Her face was losing color.

“Leave me,” she said, and Waverly wanted to smack her at such a suggestion. “Go, get out.”

“I’m not leaving you, Nicole,” she refused, her voice breaking in fear. “That’s not an option. Okay? I’m not giving up!”

Nicole shook her head weakly. “You have to.” Her voice was almost a whisper. Her eyes were closing.

“No!” Waverly yelled with an anger she didn’t know she was capable of. “No, I’m not giving up on you! I will never give up on you!”

No response after that, just shut eyes and silent breaths. Waverly was consumed by terror, shaking Nicole and begging. Begging her to get up. Begging her to keep fighting this exhausting fight. Begging her to live. Because they needed her—Nicole, not the Assassin inside—to live. She was their friend, their guardian on many occasions. Someone Waverly cared about. And there was no way she planned to lose another she cared for, ever again.

She heard car brakes screeching, and turned to find Jeremy flinging open the rear doors of the van and rushing over. Nicole proved she hadn’t left the living yet, the way she hollered in pain when Jeremy and Waverly raised her up again. Seemed to wake her a bit, too, the way she panted and stumbled along with them on weak legs.

They got Nicole inside and on her stomach just in time for Templars to rush out of the building. Jeremy slammed the doors. Waverly took off her bloodied gloves and drove them off. Jeremy took it as a cue to apply his limited medical knowledge, now. He assumed Waverly had a location in mind. He trusted her.

Jeremy fought inertia as Waverly sped and swerved around, where he squatted next to Nicole. He wrangled the jacket off of her, folded it up, and used it to put pressure on the wound, her left side a scarlet waterfall. His free hand pawed at the installed shelf behind him until he clutched the medical kit. Their only one, left in here since the Gibson greenhouse job. Back when things looked more promising.

There was nothing strong enough to totally numb the pain or put the writhing, groaning, whimpering body next to him asleep. Unless he physically knocked her out. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t consider it, for Nicole’s sake.

Minutes later he was toppling backwards as Waverly turned suddenly, into an empty alleyway. She kept the engine running, half for the heat and half for a quick getaway, if needed. He immediately handed her a knife and prepped to sow the wound shut. Waverly cut open the rest of Nicole’s shirt as the Assassin, pain taking over, wriggled uncomfortably, uncontrollably, moaning without pleasure. The wing of the phoenix tattoo on her back was sliced, too. How symbolic.

Waverly’s heart raced, probably as fast as Nicole’s. The bleeding didn’t stop. It was slightly slower, if that counted for anything. Her hands took one of Nicole’s. Both of them felt easier, at the sensation.

Nicole was given the painkillers. And whiskey, at her request. Wynonna’s impact. Jeremy was slipping on sanitary gloves and getting the sutures together with one hand, and flushing out the wound with bottled water the next. Infection wasn’t a game he was risking.

When Waverly saw the sutures she pulled Nicole’s head into her lap and did her best to keep her calm. The cut was long enough for this to take a while, and from watching her sister’s reckless childhood she knew stitches weren’t always a painless game. Not like they had something to completely numb Nicole. There was a warning before Jeremy started. In went the needle, out came the thread, pulling broken skin back together again. Nicole hissed and groaned in renewed pain. Waverly pulled her closer.

The blue gloves on Jeremy’s hands were turning red. He pushed himself to take his time. Not rushing was hard, not because of the way Nicole’s body squirmed in protest, but because he longed to be over with this. His friend, in pain—a sight he could never bear. And probably wouldn’t forget. The second he finished and cut the excess thread he was ready to jump up and down with joy.

Waverly had him take the wheel. They were sitting ducks here. He threw the gloves and Waverly’s (favorite) jacket in a corner and drove without direction. Something told him to head for Purgatory. Waverly cleaned the other wounds scattered across Nicole’s body before repacking the medical supplies and toweling off the disturbing amount of blood on Nicole’s back. She also somehow managed to get a long sleeve on her before settling her onto her side. She draped every blanket possible on Nicole the second she saw her shiver. And put a rolled up shirt under her head, for comfort.

“Are you warm enough?” Waverly whispered. Nicole’s eyes were heavy, but she stubbornly fought sleep. Waverly fixed a strand of hair from her face. “You should get some sleep.”

“We can’t leave them,” Nicole said, her voice small and weak. At this point she let her eyes shut.

Waverly didn’t answer. She couldn’t, because she agreed. The reason she had Jeremy drive now was because her first idea was to turn back and finish the job. Rosita was tough, but she wasn’t invincible. She needed them. Waverly felt sick. This was so, so wrong. The best they could do was sit back and hope for the best. Nothing felt more pathetic than that. Waverly sighed. She should’ve gotten out of the van once Nicole was safe, and turned around. It’s what Nicole would’ve done.

Unfortunate as it was, they couldn’t re-deal this hand. As nice as it’d be to have that option. She needed to focus. Nicole was the most important thing right now. They needed shelter, warmth, and food. She looked Nicole over one more. Sleeping, despite her desire not to.

“Jeremy?” Waverly said. It felt strange to talk, in the current, somber climate. “Can you take us to the homestead?”

“Are you sure that’s safe?” He tossed a look over his shoulder.

“Wynonna told me it’s clear. No one’ll know we’re there.” She paused, considered. “A-and if they do, it’s still better than anywhere else, right?”

No argument there.

The remainder of the car ride was silent. Jeremy tried to focus on the road, and Waverly tried not to fall into a deep mental spiral, keeping an eye on Nicole as she slept. Tried not to think of losing the mine, Rosita, and her sister in one go. Tried not to think about how their odds of victory were now in the negatives.

-

Nicole was out cold, and they’d tried everything short of a bullhorn. Couldn’t keep her in the van, in the freezing weather, so they scooted her out like an old sofa and slung her arms over their shoulders, extra careful of the left side, and walked her over to the Earp homestead’s unbrushed porch, snow turning the walkway pale. It was easygoing, once they found their bearings, only finding trouble when Waverly froze at the front door. This was different from last time, when she came back to retrieve Peacemaker. Because she had no intention of going inside. Of living here, again.

She eyed the property with chills in her bones. She remembered the terror of that night, the scream that ripped from her when Ward was shot. When Willa was taken. Singing Mama’s lullaby with Wynonna to try to feel ease. Keeping Wynonna from chasing their killers. Those damned Templars who took her family. Who had her family right now, picking her for every detail of Wyatt’s life. Who probably killed Rosita and was on track to killing Nicole.

“You good, Waves?”

Jeremy. She shook off those thoughts, those feelings. Lifelong habit, by now. She kept things moving, for the living room.

“I’m good. I just wasn’t expecting to come here like this again.”

They pushed through, past broken glass and wood splintered from bullets. Waverly left Jeremy alone to support Nicole for the sake of pulling the couch from the corner and closer to the fireplace. Homestead had no power, and no heat. In the midst of Purgatory’s brutal cold.

The couch was essentially a wooden bench and moved with a simple tug. They settled Nicole on her good side again, to alleviate any pressure to the sore wound, and Waverly cursed because the damn thing wasn’t long enough for Nicole’s legs. She mumbled more curses on her sudden trek out to the barn, and Jeremy took the opportunity to start a fire and unload essentials from the truck. By the time he made it back, Waverly had sawed off the couch’s obstructive armrest and placed Nicole’s now-hanging feet on an end table. She looked quite pleased with herself.

They sat before the crackling fire. Silent again. It was a moment or two or seven to let the day’s events hit them. Jeremy stared at the light, and Waverly stared at Nicole. She fussed to herself, debating whether or not the high pile of blankets were enough.

“So,” she spoke up minutes later, “what’s next?” She was reluctant to ask. The fight begun now, at her question. And now it’d be harder than ever. Totally renewed.

“Things are grim,” Jeremy said uncharacteristically. He listed off, “The mine is compromised, Wynonna’s gone, Rosita’s probably gone, we barely have supplies, Nicole is injured—” He stopped himself. Long road ahead, but baby steps would get them through. “Nicole lost a lot of blood. I want to do a transfusion, but neither of us are compatible, and the blood we took from her for this exact kind of thing is at the mine.”

“No. You’re not going there.” Waverly leaned forward. “That’s suicide, Jeremy.”

“You know I have to.” He sighed, defeated. Of course she knew. Didn’t mean she agreed. “All of our stuff is there, Nicole needs blood, and the rings are still buried. I have to.”

Waverly didn’t answer. No energy. No alternate solution, none better than replacing their weapons, tech, magical rings, and restoring Nicole’s health.

Jeremy didn’t leave right away. First he rigged the water and power back on, using his Jeremy magic to ensure usage would go unnoticed. Sure, they both felt back about the theft but there were bigger fish to fry here.

Then he gave instructions about Nicole, in case he didn’t make it back. A thought Waverly refused to welcome. Practical or not. Mostly he instructed care for the stitches, from basic knowledge she actually needed to extra facts that didn’t entirely apply.

He finished, “And most importantly— _super_ important—nothing physical that’ll irritate it. We both know Nicole likes to pretend she isn’t hurt. It’s a pretty serious cut, and we don’t—”

“Jeremy,” Waverly grounded him, hands on his shoulders, “I’ll take care of her. I promise you.”

“She—I—” He sighed. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. You’re super awesome and you got this.”

She pulled him into a tight embrace, their hearts racing equally for fear of the future. “Come back safe, okay? Watch your back, don’t forg—”

“I got it.” He smiled, before it died suddenly. “I hope Calamity Jane’s okay.”

Poor cat was probably lost and confused. And starving, for sure. Waverly tried not to think about that. She forced a smile on herself.

“She probably scared everyone off. It’s _them_ you should be worried about.”

Jeremy paused by the door. “She better be okay. They can kick our butts, but they can’t touch our cat.”

He ran back inside briefly to drop off the rations Nicole kept, they hugged again, Waverly demanded he be safe again, and off he was, gambling the scraps left of their luck.

And here Waverly was, in the place she used to call home in rain or shine, her half-dead friend in the once-lively living room. Alone, with reignited trauma. The sound of Willa’s screams, the last she had of her sister. The sight of Ward, dead, by Wynonna’s hand. A feeling of irony; her life ended here, but she brought Nicole to survive. Beat death. Brought the Assassin organization here, to beat death. Fingers crossed she wasn’t jinxing it all.

-

Nicole was still out cold. Jeremy was gone. Waverly could sit and relax, but things were too crazy for lazing around. The homestead was a dusty mess, for one. She swatted some off the couch and put a blanket from the van under Nicole before they got her down. She could _see_ the dust in the air, feel herself breathe it in and out. She’d already sneezed a dozen times too many.

Power and water were working, so Waverly threw old towels and blankets in the washer. No detergent, as it’d gone bad long ago, but the goal right now was to kick out as much dust as possible. Blankets would be a necessity. Winter was around the corner, and the homestead never really had any working heat.

Her body numbly followed its set goals. Threw in the blankets and some towels. Grabbed the duster, cleaned off chairs and tables. Swept up shattered glass and boarded up broken windows to fight the cold. Her mind, meanwhile, was somewhere else.

Ears, re-hearing those gunshots. Ward begging the Seven to go away as he fought them. Willa, screaming as they took her right from the kitchen window. The front door bursting open, Ward struggling as he was pulled away. The scream from her own lungs when Wynonna shot him with Peacemaker.

Eyes, re-seeing the life leave his body forever. Watching the men laugh— _laugh_ —and run off with Willa forever. She and Wynonna cried to themselves until Curtis, Gus, and Purgatory’s whole police force showed up, Assassins and the Seven fleeing their distant squabble at the sound of sirens. They saw Ward, dead, and Wynonna, shaking, Peacemaker in hand. They made their assumptions from there. No one ever believed what Wynonna said about the attack. They just called her crazy, going on about hooded figures fighting in the night.

Here Waverly was again, frozen on the porch, shaking and tearing up. A sister missing. Realizing her life was about to take a huge turn again. Where, she didn’t know. Wasn’t so sure she was okay with it, either. Funny, how history repeats itself. Funny, how she thought she’d be exempt.

She didn’t dare venture upstairs, after long consideration and a long, blank stare. The attic, and perhaps some useful items, was up there, entrance hidden in the hall closet. Willa’s old room was up there, too. She was the favorite, so she got her own room while Waverly and Wynonna shared a curtained-off section of the house. A whole room of memories of Willa—pass. They were never close, but that didn’t make it any less painful. The day Willa was taken was the beginning of a long downward spiral for the Earp family.

-

She could hear her own, heavy breaths leaving her own, tired lips. Tired of this mission or tired of getting totally screwed over? Who knew.

She felt her right arm under her, wrist free from the blankets stacked on her and hanging over the side of whatever it was she was laying on. Left curled into her side. Feet dangling off this unfamiliar island, supported by something else, something a little bit shorter.

Her eyes fluttered open. Her vision was slow to clear and brain even slower to process. Wind was howling outside, and old wood creaked with it. She averted her eyes from the overwhelming brightness in front of her. By her head, someone else sitting below was leaned against this uncomfortable bench—a wooden couch on further investigation, a blanket under her attempting comfort and softness—and was sleeping softly. Nicole blinked her eyes and squinted. A brunette.

“Wave?” she muttered. The pillow under her head ate most of the sound. When she moved to sit up her back screamed for her to still, so still she stayed.

“Wave?” she tried again, voice as breathy as the first.

Her vision and brain had caught up with her now, as her colleague woke sluggishly and rubbed her eyes. Waverly smiled when she saw Nicole’s eyes open, and held the hand that dangled over.

“Hey, you,” she whispered. There was a sadness to her eyes. Her thumb rubbed the back of Nicole’s hand. Nicole exhaled at the feeling.

“You look exhausted,” Nicole mumbled back. “Are you okay?”

A laughed escaped Waverly. Of course Nicole was asking if _she_ was alright. Half-dead on a couch too short, fresh sutures in her back, and she was concerned for Waverly.

“Yes,” she answered, “I’m fine.”

The look on Waverly seemed to have lightened, a loving smile to her now. Her free hand soothingly, softly tangled in Nicole’s hair. Nicole’s eyes closed, and she exhaled again.

“Where are we?” Nicole asked after a long moment. Waverly’s hand didn’t stop massaging her scalp.

“The homestead.”

Nicole felt a heaviness in her eyes, but fought it to look over the torn-up place. “It’s beautiful.”

Waverly smiled. Her fingers kept their patterns. Nicole didn’t mind. It was relaxing.

“Is it bad?”

Waverly stopped to rub at Nicole’s forehead. “You’ll be okay. Jeremy left to get our stuff, and some blood for you.”

“The mine isn’t safe.”

Nicole looked as if she was trying to get up. Like she’d somehow be able to catch up to Jeremy and fight gun-toting bogeys in this state. She sobered immediately when the small motion shot pain through her.

“I know.” Waverly nodded sadly, the pain of it clear on her face. She continued running fingers through Nicole’s hair, to calm her. Another exhale proved it worked.

“I really hope Jane’s okay.”

That cat meant a lot to her, and the way she carried on when Nicole was gone, Nicole meant a lot to her, too. Damn cat was a pain most of the time, but Nicole loved her the same. Not that Nicole was perfect, herself.

Waverly assured, “I’m sure she’s kicking all their butts, right now.”

Nicole smiled, her eyes falling closed. Waverly felt all the tension leave her, even as the smile faded off. She contemplated telling Nicole of Rosita, the likely chance her closest friend was gone, unsure if “gone” mean captured or dead. Which would make Nicole Mentor, and the last of the Canadian Brotherhood. Responsible, further, for this team and this mission. All things she didn’t want.

She unsheathed her fingers from Nicole’s hair and sighed. Nicole deserved to know. Rosita was her childhood friend, her family.

“Hey, Nicole?”

No answer, no reaction. She’d fallen back asleep. Waverly nodded to herself.

“That’s probably best.”

Sometimes bad news was better split up.

-

Waverly toughed it out and forced herself upstairs to check out the attic, making every effort to totally ignore Willa’s room. She moved around some old stuff. Put aside things that might fit her or Nicole, happily changed from her blood-soaked clothes into something once belonging to Mama. Threw down heavier blankets, ammo, coyote traps. She found an old shotgun, one they could’ve used _that_ night. She was happy to find it, most of all. She felt they really needed that extra security now.

She found two sets of queen beds, unused. One used to be Ward’s. When Michelle was taken away, he switched to a twin. The empty space was painful, probably. If he loved her, Waverly thought, he should’ve showed it better. The second was plucked from her and Wynonna’s room. Wynonna always seemed to get on his nerves and Waverly wasn’t his—neither were deemed deserving of such a luxury-sized bed. Willa didn’t use it because she didn’t want any sleepovers. Waverly tossed one collapsed set for Nicole to use, then climbed down.

When she entered the kitchen for a drink she realized the sun was fully set. Jeremy should’ve been back by now. An hour ago, actually. All the anxious phone calls she made, immediately at the realization, went right to voicemail. So either dead, no service, on airplane mode, or broken. She prayed he was safe. Those bastards weren’t allowed to take another one of them.

She left the bedframe for a later install. Paranoia overcame her, as she rushed outside to bury the coyote traps under the snow. She drew the Canadian Brotherhood’s insignia in the area surrounding. Hopefully Jeremy would see, inspect, and get the message. The last thing they needed was two-thirds of the team injured.

Next on her security list was getting Nicole someplace safer. She woke her, Nicole absent of energy to argue or fully understand what was going on, and got her upstairs.

It took them much too long to get Nicole off the couch, and on her feet she was clumsy. And stubborn, refusing Waverly’s help and trying to walk on her own. But Waverly was more assertive, more influential, more scary, so Nicole succumbed to leaning on her for support.

Hiking up the staircase was a journey on its own. But a great distraction for Waverly’s reluctance to go up—and the sudden realization the room she was taking Nicole to was Willa’s. Was the little kiddie bed big enough? She should’ve set up the stupid queen when she had the chance. Too late now. Nicole was already up, and struggled forever to get up here. No way she could wait around, either.

Waverly froze in the doorway, so Nicole had no choice but to stop with her. Dulled state or not, she knew something was up. She saw the distant way Waverly’s eyes scanned the room.

“You okay?” Nicole asked. Again. While injured, unable to walk alone, a thread holding her skin together.

“This was Willa’s room,” Waverly mumbled in response.

“I can stay on the couch,” Nicole offered.

Immediately, Waverly moved them along. “No, I want you upstairs. It’s safer.” Someone breaks in, she’ll know and have time to kill them first, sort of thing.

Some trouble getting Nicole on the bed, but significantly less compared to the stairs debacle. They split the rations for dinner, before Waverly let Nicole doze off. A part of her hoped Nicole wouldn’t. Because now she was here, alone in this house of memories, surrounded by what remained of the sister she lost. Whether or not said sister was cruel. It was also an unhealthy reminder her remaining sister, the one she loved very, very much, was in the clutches of BBD again. Exactly how the first died.

She gathered Willa’s things, with care, and put them to rest in the attic. The horse posters, the stuffed animals, the works. Moved some things around, then got to work on piecing together the queen bed’s frame. Later she’d move the twin Nicole was sleeping on to the attic, too, completely expelling Willa’s presence.

She cleaned up her old room downstairs next, as well as Ward’s, moved more old stuff up to the attic, and returned to Nicole. She checked on the stitches and every other little cut littered about. All good signs so far. She hauled up a chair from the kitchen and sat by Nicole’s side, facing the doorway with the shotgun in her lap. There was nothing else to do but sit and have faith.

-

_October 25, 2016_

Early hours into the morning, still no Jeremy, Nicole woke. The first thing she saw in the dim-lit room was Waverly, armed, taking on the role of a brave guardian.

Desperately fighting sleep.

Nicole smiled, because the sight was adorable. Waverly, shotgun resting across her thighs, ready to kill. Eyes falling closed, then popping open. Her head drooping down before jumping upright. Shaking it off with a frustration to her face, only to repeat again and again.

“Go to sleep, Waverly,” Nicole said, finally, breaking the hellish cycle. Waverly jumped fully awake and nearly lost the gun, fumbling with it until she settled.

“I’m fine,” she stubbornly insisted, in that admirable but annoying Earp way. No way she _wasn’t_ an Earp.

“Hey, Jeremy’s safe. He’s smart. We’re safe, because _you’re_ smart. Get some rest.”

Translation: relax. But she couldn’t. Too many things were happening right now. Jeremy and Rosita missing, Nicole seriously injured, Templars probably on their tail and around the corner, Wynonna at BBD as a tool for their evil . . .

Starting with the immediate problem, “It’s been over eight hours. I don’t—”

“Sleep, or I’ll smother you with one of the, what, million pillows I think I’m lying on? Why are there so many?”

Waverly narrowed her eyes. “They’re nice pillows! And they’re helping you stay off that awful cut, so be nice.”

Nicole chuckled. “Sure. But seriously, staying up and driving yourself nuts isn’t helpful to anyone.”

Waverly yawned. “Well, maybe it is. What do you know?”

Nicole spared a laugh, until her wound rudely shut her up. Waverly’s fingers found home running through her hair again, red locks wrapping themselves as if to tell her to stay there, where she belonged. An exhale followed, and Nicole’s eyes closed. Waverly let her know the tiny bit of good news they had, and hopefully got to keep: all of Nicole’s cuts, from tiny to the big monster on her shoulder, were healing nicely. Nicole thanked her by kissing her hand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry about Nicole and Rosita please don’t murder me
> 
> This chapter got a little sad at the end there, so I feel obligated to tell a terrible joke: Who was the meanest kid in the old west? Bully the Kid. (don’t worry, fluffy, sweet Wayhaught scenes are on the way)
> 
> Next chapter’s completely done and should also be up next week. It’s another modern day, the last one before we return to good ol’ Wyatt for a spell. 
> 
> Songs used in this chapter  
> I’ve Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts, composed by Fred Heatherton [(S), ](https://open.spotify.com/track/30M1Hau5GbajCTRlJjMh4B?si=hS4EfBSOSuCeNVzzAWLN0w) [(Y)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5rK4CnJQnFA)


	15. Consequence

_ October 25, 2016 _

By the time the sun set she made it in. The walk back would be exhaustive hell, but there were hardly any other options. Wasn’t like she had a car right now.

The home was small, one story with two tiny bedrooms and a single bathroom. The kitchen and living room were connected, and the basement was practically the size of a closet. She knew from experience. Her mother was friends with the owners. She hoped they’d forgive her.

Waverly trekked across acres of empty land to her closest neighbor’s house. An elderly pair lived here, she knew, and by this time of night they headed to Shorty’s to socialize. The husband was fully retired, while the wife was a dispatch officer for Purgatory’s police department.

There was still no sign of Jeremy. The rations were done. They totally underestimated. In the days following the mine assault, it’d been their only source of food. They couldn’t cross into town without the huge chance of getting caught. Rosita was a terrible pickpocket. Jeremy couldn’t use BBD funds anymore. So even if he  _ was _ here, she’d be looting the home of an innocent elderly couple. She considered calling Gus but ultimately decided against it. Wasn’t risking putting Gus in danger.  _ I’m so going to Hell for this _ , she thought. 

She popped the window open and listened. Silence. She entered, opened the empty backpack over her shoulders, and began.

Essentials first. The pack of frozen chicken breast in the freezer. Milk. Fruits. Vegetables. Bread. It was enough for a few days, maybe a week.

Bathroom next. She found unopened toothbrushes and mouthwash, and gently used toothpaste. Old, unopened box of tampons because  _ wow _ Mother Nature didn’t wait for anyone and now would be a terrible time for  _ surprises.  _

The secondary bedroom had a washing machine and a dryer, both brand new. She stole a half-empty container of detergent.  _ Yes _ it was essential; the homestead was a god damned festival of dust. The same room had boxes of old clothes in the closet, stacked high. The couple’s late son was about Nicole’s size when he passed months ago, and clothing from his teen years could fit Jeremy. She tucked it away.

The sound of tires crunching dirt and rocks outside signaled the end of this. She zipped up her pack, jumped out the back door, and sprinted for home, apologizing under her breath. She’d never so much as thought about stealing before, never mind looting a sweet old couple’s home. But this was for Nicole. She’d do it again if she had to.

-

Waverly was happy to find the homestead as quiet as she’d left it. The lights were off. The old wood creaked against the wind outside, almost in protest. She gave a shiver and left the backpack in the kitchen. Rolled her tired shoulders to relax. Huffed out air into her freezing hands. How was it this cold, already?

She barely let herself catch her breath before she jogged up the stairs. She opened the closet and pushed aside its thickest coats to find the ladder to the attic. It protested her weight as she ascended, silent only when she paused at the top to slide open the wooden cover and stick her head into the space. Quiet, as she’d left it. The boxes she stacked high in the corner were unmoved. She pushed a column of them to find Nicole, on the bed she’d plucked from Willa’s room.

“Nicole?” she called, softly. A nagging part of her was terrified, this whole venture, Nicole had passed while she was away. God’s sake, she left her  _ alone. _

Nicole grunted softly to respond, and Waverly felt ease. She noted Nicole’s short, heavy, exhausted breaths. The chill that hit her skin when she touched Nicole’s forehead. Something told her to bring up more blankets but she didn’t.

“Let’s get you downstairs, okay? I found food.”

Nicole nodded weakly in reply, but didn’t move after that.

“Need help?”

For once in her life, Nicole accepted that offer. Not even strong enough to be stubborn. They really were in trouble here.

Waverly grabbed the shotgun she left next to her, as well as the pistol she placed under Nicole’s pillow. She’d found it while skimming the homestead for cash. Of course, their emergency fund was gone. Ward probably spent it on booze.

“On three, okay?”

Nicole nodded. Waverly slung the shotgun over her shoulder, placed one arm under Nicole’s good shoulder, and the other around her stomach. 

“One. Two. Three!”

There was a hitch in Nicole’s breath and a small protesting noise when Waverly lifted from the shoulder and dragged her to sit upright. They paused here. Waverly kept Nicole supported. 

Waverly made sure to put extra support on Nicole’s left side when she finally made it on her feet. Nicole tried to help in some way, but found pain in the smallest of twitches. She was still clumsy on her feet, too. At the ladder Waverly guided Nicole to sit, having her bend her knees and not her back. She climbed down first, then Nicole. In case of slip ups—not that Waverly was confident she could catch Nicole if she fell.

In Willa’s room, all parts of Willa hidden away, Waverly checked on the stitches. Still healthy. When Nicole hopped in the shower this morning, Waverly moved the beds around (as fast as possible before standing outside the bathroom door, terrified Nicole would fall or get hurt further in her poor condition). Twin went into the attic in case of intruders or the need to go foraging, and the queen with the far superior mattress was set up. Another thing, tossed up into the attic. Like a black hole to throw bad memories into.

Tossed together a salad with the fruits, and baked half of one of the chickens. Waverly herself didn’t plan to eat much. Not for the purpose of conserving their food, but because her appetite was dismal. Where the hell was Jeremy? It’d been twenty-four hours now. An awful pit formed in her stomach. She couldn’t do this alone. She’d finally found people she cared deeply for, in this weird little family they had. She’d finally gotten her sister back. Was this it? Did she lose all of it, already?

She shook her head. No. Nope. Can’t do this, not right now. Nicole needed her to be strong. Especially once she found out about Rosita. And the possibility Jeremy was out, too.

Despite what Waverly prepared and the audible grumbling of her stomach, Nicole hadn’t moved. The food Waverly left her was untouched. But the painkillers were missing, some water, too. Waverly frowned at the sight when she reentered from checking the chicken. 

“Hey, I know you’re hurting, but you have to eat.”

Nicole shook her head in refusal.

“Come on, Nicole, you can’t just starve yourself. Please, eat.”

No answer, just Nicole’s loud breaths. Just as Waverly readied to ask again, Nicole made to shift into a more comfortable position. Waverly helped her along, eagerly, gently putting more pillows behind her back for support in sitting up. 

“All I want . . . is whiskey.” Nicole’s voice was quiet. She hadn’t spoken since yesterday. Waverly was relieved to hear her again. Or at all, considering.

“Eat first, then we’ll talk.”

She put all her energy into a pout. “I miss Wynonna.”

Waverly laughed, a pleasant feeling she hadn’t experienced in much too long washing over. A feeling that, somehow, they’d be okay. Or maybe it was just that damned beautiful smile she had the pleasure of staring at. A smile she thought she’d lost, forever.

-

“Waverly.”

The girl’s brow twitched, but she didn’t break. Nicole could see her sitting below, breathing calmly and trying to meditate her burdens away. Unfortunately, now wasn’t the time.

“Waverly!”

She didn’t budge. Nicole grabbed one of the many decorative pillows propping her on her side and threw it at Waverly, who jerked in her direction with a pointed look.

“I’m trying to alleviate some stress here! And don’t you dare say it’s an emergency! You already said you didn’t have to go.”

“Someone’s in the house.” Nicole’s eyes were wide. Waverly sprung to her feet. Trusting Nicole’s hyper-fixed senses? A must. Painkiller haze or no.

She grabbed the shotgun, an item she was quickly growing a fondness for, from the foot of the bed and ran on tiptoes to the door, closing it carefully. Nicole had that pistol to protect herself, should anything go wrong. She pumped the shotgun, yawned, and headed downstairs as cautiously as possible. Hopefully it was her angry neighbors and not a team of Templars. Old people were a lot easier to fight off. 

“Wave?”

Jeremy!

They met in the kitchen, but Waverly didn’t lower the gun. She fought the urge to squeal in delight and relief until he promised he was alone. The second he did she dropped the defense and pulled him into a tight hug. Then, when they broke, examined the fresh bruise on his cheek.

He explained how he was caught at the last second, just as he made off with the supplies. He thought he was home free and got a bit excited, and thus a bit careless. He outran the Templars infesting their old hideout and hid out in the trees, before leaving in Nicole’s truck. Aerial eyes caught him again, and an action movie-style car chase broke out. He had to lay low again, then  _ again _ when two sprouted from nowhere. They nearly hijacked the van, but by some miracle he made it out. He was lucky the worst thing he walked away with was the punch a soldier at the mine gave him. He drove deeper into the Ghost River Triangle, hid again, and finally headed to the homestead when things looked clear. He used an ATM at a place he ditched with the speed of lightning to access what little was in his personal account and bought food and medical supplies in a separate town. 

His eyes went wide suddenly, and he ran outside. He returned with two small boxes, Calamity Jane whining inside one of them.

“You saved her!” Waverly beamed. Nicole would be devastated if anything happened to Calamity Jane. And frankly, things weren’t the same without her running around, destroying everything possible and driving everyone insane. She kind of made life exciting. 

“She almost clawed my eyes out,” Jeremy grumbled.

The second he released Jane she hissed at him and ran to greet Waverly, where she recited the highs and lows of her hard journey. Waverly picked her up and stroked her fur.

“I found her in the lower part of the mine,” Jeremy explained. “I used Nicole’s secret entrance to get in. It looked like one of the soldiers was trying to take care of her. All her food was down there and everything.”

“Good thing you got there before they could adopt her,” Waverly joked. Calamity Jane seemed to agree, the way she aggressively forced her head into Waverly’s hand.

“How is she?” When Waverly motioned him along he grabbed the second box at his feet.

“The wound’s fine, but I don’t think she’s doing well. She’s just really hurting, I think.”

They stopped just before Willa’s resituated room. “She’s tough,” Jeremy promised, in a volume between them. “She’s been through a lot. She’ll definitely pull through. She’s Nicole! Super badass!”

The second Waverly opened the door Calamity Jane sprung from her grip and sprinted to the bed, jumping up and happily meowing in Nicole’s face. Nicole’s eyes burst open, and all the despair from her face seemed to wash off.

“Calamity Jane!” she laughed, and her cat purred and rubbed against her hands. She turned her head to the doorway. The sight of Jeremy, alive, widened her grin. “Jeremy! You saved her!”

“No small thing,” he smiled. Waverly reveled in Nicole’s radiating happiness.

“I’m glad you’re both okay.” Nicole’s smile didn’t die, neither did her efforts to pet her own cat, who was too excited to stop moving about.

Jeremy and Waverly were at the bedside now, Waverly returning to her chair. Jeremy opened up the box and revealed Nicole’s stored blood and the needle that’d help return it. She groaned, and the smile died. Needles were nobody’s thing.

“Fucking Templars.”

-

_ October 26, 2016 _

Nicole felt more awake and less like death walking. It was unfortunate. Because it gave room to think, and think led to worry.

She asked Jeremy the problematic question at breakfast, while he poured himself over BBD building schematics like staring at the screen was keeping his life force going.

“Where’s Rosita?”

Jeremy choked on his coffee. Waverly accidentally dropped a plate in the sink and cracked it.

Rosita was missing. Not dead. Not alive. Missing. Nicole downed some pills and went to sleep. She was unfortunate enough to dream of her dear friend, the good times they used to have, and seemed to will herself back awake. More unfortunate; awake, think, worry. Jeremy hadn’t found a single trace of her. The nightmare outcome ran through Nicole’s mind. Not the fact she’d be in charge now, and the fact it was exactly what she didn’t want. The fact this life took Rosita, too.

And finally, now, she’d found herself in the most unfortunate scenario: helpless.

On the ground, her shoulder, mid-back, lower back, whole back, whole body screeching in pain. Her legs were suddenly jelly. Her arms shook with any attempt to get herself up from where she’d tripped and fallen right on her left side. She rolled on her back, and found she couldn’t sit up without flopping back down. Couldn’t reach for something, because where she’d fallen there wasn’t much to reach for. Bed was too far away. There was a dresser sort of close by, but it had no legs. Just a fat wooden block. Right now Nicole felt as glamorous as a fat wooden block.

Jeremy had headphones in when he was working, or blasted music in his workspace. She knew that. It was odd Waverly wasn’t here. She was always here, reading, thinking, meditating, or pretending not to sleep. Couldn’t be out. It was too risky, and she didn’t really have a reason to. Shower across the hall wasn’t running. The thud Nicole made against the floor wasn’t particularly quiet. Unless she was taken—

Nicole screamed Waverly’s name as loud as she possibly could. Her head felt hot. Her throat felt tight. Her eyes felt wet. Her stupid body wouldn’t move with her. She screamed again. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She blinked away a tear and felt her chest moving faster. No, no, those bastards couldn’t have—

Someone was running up the stairs. Nicole tried to force herself up in a panic but fell back again. She jerked her head in frustration.

Footsteps stopped. Knuckles knocked the bathroom door across the hall.

“Nicole, are you in there? Are you okay?”

Nicole exhaled. Waverly was alive. Waverly was safe. Waverly was probably going to murder her for scaring the life out of her.

“Bedroom,” Nicole called weakly. In better circumstances a joke would’ve been made.

Better circumstances, where Waverly wouldn’t run in, yell Nicole’s name in horror, and put all her strength into helping her up.

She fixed Nicole to lie on her side, noticeably farther than usual from the edge. Apparently she thought Nicole fell off innocently and not from doing something stupid. Ignoring the fact Nicole was in the middle of the room when she fell. She held Nicole’s hand and tried to relax her. Tensing up the way she was only made things worse for pain, she knew that. She grew up with a rambunctious sister who got into all sorts of fights she got to see the aftermath of.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. I fell asleep downstairs. What happened?”

She asked when the screwed-up expression on Nicole’s face loosened, and her pained pants slowed. Nicole looked nothing but aggravated now.

“Don’t apologize, Waverly,” Nicole said. Slightly aggressively, in her pain.

Whose fault it was could be sorted out later. “What happened?”

“I  _ fucked _ everything up!” Nicole’s snarling tone actually made Waverly jump. “I was supposed to protect you and keep you all safe but I got my dumb ass caught and now Wynonna’s captured, and Rosita’s—”

“They’re going to be okay.” Waverly let go of Nicole’s hand. “We’ll—”

“I got hurt,” Nicole insisted, “and now I can’t even get off a god damned bed without falling over like a fucking infant!”

“Look, you’re just frustrated. Okay? None of this is your—”

“Yes it—”

“None of this is your fault.” Waverly eyed her with such an intensity. “Everything is going to be okay. We’ll find Wynonna, and we’ll find Rosita.” Waverly tried to offer a convincing smile but even she knew it was a fraud. “We always do.”

Nicole didn’t look moved in any fashion. She just stared ahead, right arm hugging her torso to hold the angry wound on her shoulder blade. Waverly didn’t know what to say. How can you give hope if you’re running out of it, yourself?

“Right now we need to focus on you getting better.” It was the best she could manage. Nicole only seemed to get more frustrated at that.

“There’s no time for that,” she spat.

Waverly felt her cool taking a long dive. This was like arguing with Wynonna, and no matter how much she missed her sister the noble tough guy act was still annoying. “What were you trying to do, Nicole? Get up and raid BBD? Are you serious?” She scoffed.

“I can’t just sit here on my ass all day, Waverly! I have to do something!”

Nope. Not today. Not right now. They weren’t about to have some fight and debate who was right and who was wrong and why. Waverly resigned to silence and watched Nicole shake her head in disapproval. 

“Why didn’t you just leave me, like I asked?”

Waverly scoffed. What an  _ awful _ question. What a despicable question!

Nicole’s eyes met hers again, and for once she found no interest in staring back. Those weren’t them. Nothing in those eyes was there before. Those weren’t the eyes she lov—

She tossed the pill bottle at Nicole and stormed off. She heard the contents rattling, stop, and slam on the nightstand.

Halfway down the staircase, Waverly paused. Cursed. Stepped. Paused again. Cursed again. She turned around to have the last word.

She marched through the doorway and proclaimed, with all the anger she’d collected in the moment, “Because I love you, you ass!”

Waverly froze. 

“Oh, no.”

The reality of it her like a truck going full speed, downhill. 

She thanked all the stars in the sky Nicole was asleep and didn’t hear. This wasn’t the place, the time, the anything. Save the world, then complete final steps of Gay Awakening.

Heavens above, she was  _ in love  _ with this woman. She tried to _ kiss  _ this woman, on the boat. A few months ago love was a stupid fantasy twisted into the form of a selfish rodeo circuit drop out. Nicole was the dream she wasn’t aware she was having. The loyalty. The annoying noble selflessness. The reassurances, the compliments, and  _ oh god  _ the listening. Nobody ever listened to Waverly. Nobody ever handed out free compliments to Waverly and expected nothing in return. Nobody ever made Waverly feel safe, or wanted to make Waverly feel safe without it being a big show. Nobody made Waverly nervous. Nobody made Waverly toss and turn at night, thinking about them for hours. Nobody made Waverly feel like kissing them until she just couldn’t kiss anymore. Nobody made Waverly feel  _ love _ before. 

Waverly sighed. The world better hurry up and get saved. 

-

The fog of modern medicine’s miracles engulfed all feeling in Nicole’s torso when she woke again. She felt relaxed, clearer, and more sensible in the head.

How unfortunate. 

The moment she spotted Waverly, her stupid mini-meltdown was remembered and cursed. How could she yell at her? Sweet, sweet Waverly Earp, who was doing everything possible to keep her alive right now?

Waverly was engrossed in a book. The way she turned the page made Nicole think she was trying to rip it out. Goody. Clearly she hadn’t forgotten, either. And it really did happen, in real life and not in a stress dream.

“I’m sorry.” 

The speed Waverly eyed her made her consider hiding under the blankets.

The book closed with a thud thick enough to match the binding. “Don’t apologize to me, apologize to my friend Nicole.”

Okay, so there was a chance to undo her stupidity. “I’m sorry, Nicole. You’re super cool and super hot and I’d totally—”

“That’ll do.” The book was set on the nightstand, next to the pill bottle Nicole recalled throwing on so roughly. Angry—or perhaps disappointed—eyes raked her over. Noting she was certainly acting more pleasant than cranky, stressy Nicole. “I like it better when you’re on drugs.”

Nicole laughed hard, hard enough to crack Waverly’s tough act.

“Thank you, Waverly.”

Arms crossed. “You’re a big, dumb, stubborn, dumb Assassin idiot.”

“I’m sorry for being a big, dumb, Assassin—what was it?”

“Are you feeling better now, dummy?”

A weak shrug. “As good as a dummy can feel.”

“Well, good.” Waverly’s gaze narrowed. “Dummy.”

“Demoted from friend to dummy, huh? Rough.”

Waverly laughed her annoyance off, a type of laugh that yielded forgiveness and a type of annoyance that reminded herself, of all partners in the world, she was put up with Nicole Haught and her constant apologies and constant sad puppy look. What a world. What a wonderful, wonderful world.

-

“I saved your life, you know.”

Jeremy tried not to feel terror as Calamity Jane stared into his soul and threatened to damn him for all eternity. When a human damned him to burn for all eternity, it was just a small bump. When Calamity Jane did it, he felt the need to pray. What did she have against him?

Nicole watched them from the front door with amusement as Waverly helped her into a jacket. Waverly’s “professional” opinion demanded she needed fresh air. Stress, fear, and mind-numbing bedrest were already having a toll on Nicole’s wellbeing. Hers, too, but she wouldn’t admit that right now. A walk around the lengthy Earp property would be a fine remedy.

A remedy, it was; the land was quiet, vast, and reminded Nicole of life’s many opportunities. Life’s many beauties. Waverly held her left arm for support, and Nicole held hers in the hope of keeping her warm. By now she knew Waverly had poor circulation and shivered at the smallest of gusts. Purgatory was already getting snow. She was almost happy to be in town and not back at the mine, in the mountains.

The mine felt like a lifetime ago. Back then, they had the luxury of being bored. The luxury of a bland, repetitive schedule. Animus, dinner, movie. Break/training, dinner, movie. Chop wood all morning. Catch up to pop culture to get some sense of normalcy. Daily conflict with Rosita. She missed that simplicity with desperation.

Now they were in the toughest fight of their lives, completely broke, split up, and approaching starvation come ration end time. Oh, and there was the part where Nicole nearly died. And now they were squatting in a place they hoped was too obvious to be obvious, sleeping in the rooms of family members lost to the very people who caused their exact predicament. What a week.

Nicole wondered how Waverly was holding up with the whole former-house-of-currently-dead-family thing. She’d been sleeping too much to notice. Was it so long ago that Waverly didn’t care, or was the length a contributing problem?

She didn’t ask. But she didn’t want Waverly to be quiet, either. She wanted to go back to the age of watching Waverly’s nervous rambling take them for a ride. She wanted to learn all about the Earp homestead. If Wyatt ever came back. Why and when Josiah Earp did, if not Wyatt. Where, on this land, did little Waverly like to be? After the attack, did she ever plan to come back to the homestead, or leave it a vacant memory forever?

She wondered what the attack was like.

“I can’t focus over your loud thoughts.”

Nicole’s mind immediately shut up. How did Waverly know?

She had a teasing expression to her, one that a shadow threatened, also. Her mind was busy, too. But then Nicole guessed a brilliant mind like Waverly’s was always busy.

“Have you been okay?” Why not just flat out ask? If all went wrong she could blame the painkillers.

“What do you mean? Ever since you and Wynonna started quoting those stupid Vines I’ve never been happier to see you two separated.”

“ ‘I can’t believe you’ve done this’.” Nicole tried to laugh but her wound prevented it. Waverly thanked the stars for instant karma. “Really, though, Wave. I know your family—”

“It’s been a lot,” Waverly admitted. She stopped them by a lake, not quite frozen solid yet. Some snowflakes drizzled into it. “Coming back for Peacemaker was one thing, but now? Now we  _ live _ here. I never thought I’d live here, ever again.”

“Can’t be easy,” Nicole agreed. Waverly clutched her arm tighter.

“Daddy died right on the front porch. Is it bad I don’t miss him? I-I mean, he was my dad—er, step dad? He definitely knew I wasn’t his. He never  _ treated _ me like I was his, from the little things I can remember. Wynonna said he missed my first birthday so he wouldn’t miss Happy Hour at Shorty’s. I bet my real dad wanted to go. I hated Ward. Is that wrong, Nicole? He put a roof over my head and fed me and I don’t care that he’s dead. It feels wrong.”

Nicole intertwined her hand with Waverly’s. The ultimate reminder they were in this, all of this, together, no matter what. “It’s not wrong to feel, Waverly. A wise vegan told me that once.”

Waverly smiled.

“You don’t owe anyone anything, least of all someone like Ward. And for the record, Ewan fed me every day for twenty years and I killed him.”

Waverly leaned into Nicole. “Yeah, you are a pretty ungrateful kid, aren’t you?” She squeezed Nicole’s hand, and motioned towards the homestead behind them. “I’m really happy you’re here. I couldn’t do any of this without you. I threw all their stuff in the attic—out of sight, out of mind—but sometimes it still feels like too much. I can still hear Willa’s screams. I can still see  _ him _ , dead, with Wynonna holding Peacemaker and  _ staring _ . I can still hear the sirens, and remember the first night at Gus’s. I couldn’t sleep, so Uncle Curtis made me a pillow fort and stayed with me all night.”

“That sounds kinda nice,” Nicole smiled. Something about her injury was messing up her entire left arm as well, pain shooting up and down, but she ignored the resistance when she moved her arm to wrap around Waverly. She felt Waverly exhale.

“It was. I mean, no offense to Jeremy, but if you weren’t here I would’ve given up.” She looked up at Nicole and back into those wonderful brown eyes of hers. Everything she loved about them was back. “I saved you, Nicole, because I don’t want to do this without you.”

Now should’ve been the chance. There was no immediate danger. No distraction. No noise. No people. Just them, a cold lake, and some frozen droplets raining down. Now could’ve been the time, and  _ damn _ did they both  _ crave _ it, the feeling of each other. The feeling of their lips, together. But again, the universe denied them that blessed first kiss, one they hoped would be a chain reaction of many to follow. The second Nicole thought about leaning down, pain stung her shifting arm horrendously and she hissed. Waverly grabbed her, steadied her, and through the pain Nicole forced her best smile.

“I don’t want to do this without you, either.”

-

_ October 27, 2016 _

For once, Wynonna embraced her impressive ability to completely let people down by failing the simplest tasks. Being a screw up, she decided, wasn’t so bad. Because today, she willed herself to fail so many syncs with the Animus she convinced IT the machine had a system error. Who knows how much time she bought her team.

It thrilled her further to see the rage steaming off Lucado when the woman suddenly entered her room. File in hand. She hoped it was a report of the machine’s condition, with all errors checked. Just because it’d make Lucado madder, knowing her time was being wasted.

“You’re smart,” she said, “I’ll give you that. Stubborn, too.”

Wynonna smiled wickedly from the far side of the room, where she leaned against a wall. “Don’t fall in love.” She  _ wished _ she could take a picture of Lucado’s reaction. “I got a lady. Red hair. Sassy, super furry. She’s a cat, but we can work all that out.”

Lucado said nothing. She crossed the room in a threatening silence, one that made Wynonna smile wider, happy to see her so upset. She grabbed the folder Lucado was peddling. A DNA test, on further inspection. On Waverly. Wynonna’s smile died.

“We found a strand of your sister’s hair. Why don’t you read it?”

A light brown lock of hair on a shiny pale floor? Of course they found it. Wynonna’s hair was much darker. 

The file contained nothing good. Waverly was a direct descendant of Julian, the Assassin in old Purgatory who originally wielded Clootie’s ring. Worse: she was kin with Robert Svane. Meaning they didn’t need Wynonna anymore. Robert saw just as much as Wyatt did. More, even.

That asshole was going to put Waverly in the Animus.

“A team—” Lucado added after a satisfying silence— “recovered the external memory files you tried to destroy. They couldn’t recover the data, so I told them to look again, for another source. They returned with one not too beyond repair. Amazing, what a little effort can do. It was wedged under a rock. Must’ve been forgotten, in the chase you gave. We know, roughly, what time you were at.”

It was another group policy. If BBD ever showed up, they were to destroy every one of the Animus files. Having someone run away with it was too risky. If they got caught, all their information was caught, too. Same if they buried it. Wynonna never agreed with the idea, but she never said anything. Again, going against her own nature was for the worst. 

Wynonna’s heart fell right from her chest. She knew what was about to happen: blackmail. 

“You are now expendable, Earp.” Lucado was smiling so evil. “Cooperate or we’ll use your sister instead.”

Wynonna felt too defeated to find the energy to grit her teeth in defiance and lay on the counter threats. “Fine. No more tricks.”

Lucado turned to leave, pleased, having stolen away the fight from Wynonna Earp. Wynonna leaned off the wall.

“Wait.”

Lucado stopped to humor her.

“I know I’m not in a bargaining position or whatever, but please,  _ please _ , bury Willa. She has a plot in the Purgatory cemetery, and her coffin’s just sand.” Her eyes pleaded, “Let her rest.”

Something in Lucado softened. Sympathy? No.

Understanding.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

-

Something was wrong. Waverly could feel it in her bones. Jeremy left at noon on a supply run to town. He wanted to get some sort of muscle cream to help Nicole’s arm. It was four now. It didn’t take four hours to pick up medical supplies. Jeremy knew better than to linger for long, and he certainly knew better than to leave Waverly hanging like last time, when his phone battery died. They’d discussed it. A part of her wanted to wake up Nicole and make her say something reassuring. She was really good at that.

A car pulled up outside, and with an extensive sigh Waverly peeked out the window.

And stifled a shriek.

She shook Nicole awake and practically dragged her drug-clouded mumbling into the attic. Black SUVs.  _ Multiple  _ black SUVs. Armed goons exiting. She hid Nicole and wrestled Calamity Jane up with her just in time to hear knocking on the door. The rude sort done with fists and not knuckles.

She had a terrible idea and decided to open it herself. With a loaded shotgun. Aimed for their squad leader’s skinny head. (Skinny enough to be ill.)

“Waverly Earp,” Skinny Head greeted with a cold grin. Like knocking a door was such a grand achievement. “You and your friends are under arrest. The house is surrounded. Don’t resist.”

“Got a warrant?” she tried. He didn’t look entirely consumed by the trivial affairs of “laws” and “following them”. 

It was a breath before Waverly tried again. “We got separated. I lost contact. It’s just me, and this is my private property.” She pumped the shotgun. “You are trespassing.”

He laughed before knocking her unconscious.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to me for forgetting to change something last chapter and messing up something here, aaayyyoooo
> 
> Gonna have to leave y'all hanging. Next chapter's all Wyatt. And just, for the record, it’ll be a little bit before Waverly, Nicole, and Jeremy are reunited, at least chapter-wise. Gotta love dramatic pacing ;)


	16. Sequence 40: Old Friends, Anew

**_[SUBJECT: WYATT EARP]_ **

**_[SOURCE: WYNONNA EARP]_ **

**_[START: SEQUENCE 40, MEMORY 223]_ **

**_[MEMORY START: AUGUST 11, 1888]_ **

The bones were officially scattered, unable, they discovered, to be destroyed. But Wyatt couldn’t get it out of his head. The dead, raised back to life? In the form of monstrous beasts? Falling instantly, into a stack of bones? What else were the Clooties capable of? They were raising the dead, and making the living see thoughts so disturbing they took their own lives. He almost wished he declined Robert for good and stayed in California. But he was right; there were good and honest people here. Innocents.

Wyatt sat in the empty jailhouse, looking over the bounty posters Maggie acquired on Clootie. “Bartholomew Carrington”, it read. Clootie’s previous identity. Even before he looked so evil, so twisted. What was his scheme back then? What drove the charges on the poster? Social rebellion against the government? Money? An insecure search for self-pride and self-respect? Some backwards idea what he was doing was what the world owed him? If only he could sit the man down and ask.

The door opened suddenly, and someone walked right for Wyatt without pause. He didn’t look up.

“How’d you get on, Jimmy? Any—”

A gun was on him. He could sense it.

He looked up to find Clootie, holding a pistol. A hellfire burned beyond the man’s eyes.

“Do not speak,” he hissed, his voice thick with a snake’s venom, “or you will die.”

This was one hell of a first meeting.

He was tall, but not as tall as Wyatt. The brim of his hat was wide enough to poke Wyatt if he stood too close. And, as if on business, he wore his best three-piece suit. A golden pocket watch chain hung from a vest pocket. His shoes were polished, only slightly dusty from Purgatory’s dirt roads. It was clear from his face he was indeed an older gentleman, and underneath the hate in his expression Wyatt saw a well-travelled man. A man who saw things. Learned things. A man who didn’t forget, because he _couldn’t_ forget the harsh realities of life.

“If you’re not killing me,” Wyatt asked, “then what are you doing?”

No answer. Just a stare.

“Why terrorize the people of Purgatory with your criminal friends? This is between you and the Assassins. Have some dignity and keep it that way.”

Clootie laughed, full and hearty like they were friends telling stories around the campfire. “The people of Purgatory are _disgusting_. They are selfish, lousy pigs who deserve the slaughter that is inevitable for them!”

“How does that figure?” Wyatt felt useless, keeping his hands frozen on the desk in front of him.

“My children gave them everything! Livestock, and the knowledge to run their farms! Businesses! Revenue! Life! And how did they repay them? They let them bleed to death on the streets!”

“By my understanding, your sons were making Purgatory worse, for their own gain.”

Clootie stepped closer, his cold gun grazing Wyatt’s warm cheek. “Do not speak ill of my children, you murderer! How _dare_ you!”

“Your sons weren’t well! I think—”

“They were not well,” Clootie agreed, and the gun eased back a few inches. “But gunning innocent boys is not for you ‘high and mighty’ lawmen to decide! You are not gods! You are not better! You are pathetic. You are insignificant men with a small taste of meaning. You, Wyatt Earp, you are a monster. A plague! God damn you!”

Wyatt grit his teeth. “They were bad. They stole from these people, helpful or not. They got their comeuppance.”

“They were children! They did not deserve death!”

Wyatt stood, so suddenly Clootie almost shot him. “I disagree! If you’re old enough to do evil, you’re old enough for the consequences!”

A rough hand grabbed him by the throat, and Clootie placed himself a breath’s length from Wyatt’s face. The enchanted ring on his finger was clear as day. A black stone, wide and showy. Its power probably matched its brag.

“I want to kill you, right now,” Clootie’s sharp tone cut low in Wyatt. “But I won’t. I want you to suffer, with these inbred cow fuckers you love so much. I want you to _watch_ them die, one by one, and know you failed to help them. I want you to understand you are no hero, but another fool with a badge and a loaded gun you cannot work.”

“Why hide, if you hate them so much?” Wyatt strained to speak. “I’m beginning to think you can’t really use that relic.”

Both their eyes settled on the ring on Clootie’s gripping finger.

“Are you hiding, Mister Clootie, because you’re afraid of death?”

The hand on Wyatt’s throat gripped tighter, and he felt his airway closing in. Clootie leaned closer to him.

“I am not afraid. I’m simply not ready.”

Almost on cue, a bullet broke through the window and flew past Wyatt’s head. Clootie’s grip released, startled by the sound. Wyatt grabbed him by the arm and flipped him over the table behind them, then quickly peeked out the window. The shooter, their face fully covered, was running off. Not an Assassin. One of Clootie’s, had to be. Or perhaps an unnecessary third party.

Robert made this scene a lucky one when he rushed by on his horse.

“Wyatt, are you alright?”

Wyatt pointed for the shooter, running off on horseback. “Chase that man!”

Robert did so without question. Wyatt turned to find Clootie was gone. He stamped his foot.

“Son of a bitch!”

Wyatt snatched his shotgun from where it sat by the door and pushed his horse to join Robert. Perhaps this stranger could point them in the right direction.

-

They went far out of their way from town. The perp had no place to hide in the open land, but he didn’t want to fight back, either. The only shots fired were the ones Wyatt and Robert let off, as warnings. Eventually, Wyatt debated actually shooting this man, somewhere it wouldn’t kill him. He easily could’ve been leading them to an ambush.

Just as the thought occurred to him, Robert leaped from his horse and skillfully tackled the man off his. Wyatt laughed. The Robert Svane he knew could barely jump standing still, never mind leap from a moving horse onto another.

They rolled around on the ground until Wyatt caught up and shot his gun into the air. The shooter was startled enough to stop trying to punch Robert. Robert immediately ripped off the man’s head covering and the bandana over his face.

“Lou?”

Robert stood, balled up the cloths in his hands, and threw it back in Lou’s face. Lou flipped him off.

“So you know each other, then?

Wyatt’s question broke their mutual, hateful staring.

“He’s a traitor, Wyatt,” Robert pouted. He fixed the new pair of glasses on his face, once he snatched them from Lou’s feet.

“We were friends—the best of friends!” Lou spat, and Wyatt actually had to hold Robert Svane of all people back to prevent him, _Robert Svane,_ from starting a _fight_ . A physical fight. With fists. There _was_ magic in this place.

Something about being pulled back calmed Robert. A reminder he was being ill-tempered, maybe. He fixed his glasses and his suit jacket.

“Yes,” Robert agreed with Lou, “the best of friends. And now we’re enemies.”

Wyatt lit himself a cigarette. He could feel a lengthy, heart-wrenching story crawling in. He asked, “How did this come to be? You two turning sour?”

Robert was fixing his hat now, glaring at Lou where the man remained in the dirt. “We sent Lou to infiltrate the Templars. Before long, he stopped reporting in. We thought he was dead. Though I suppose that part was true.”

“He fell for their antics?” Wyatt hurried this along.

“Yes.” Robert’s tone reached a level of anger Wyatt was unaware he had. “I’ll bet he’s working with Clootie, too!”

“I _saved_ Wyatt!” Lou yelled, defensively. Robert eyed him. Wyatt huffed out a cloud of smoke. “I was aiming for Clootie!”

“Liar!”

“I’m telling the truth!”

Wyatt tilted his head. Something about Lou being a masked shooter was familiar. “That Big Bubba fella—did you kill him, too?”

The third foul person he met on his first day in Purgatory, the man who was supposed to discreetly poison Wyatt and personal enemies of Clootie but sold his imperfect mix instead to the public. Discreet deaths were off the table now, apparently. Wyatt had clicked his gun’s safety off to ask Bubba of Clootie’s location. That’s when the shooter killed him.

Lou answered, “Yes, that was me.”

“Huh.” Wyatt puffed out more smoke. “Why?”

Lou comfortably repositioned his legs on the ground, where apparently he planned to stay. “I was alone after the Templars were dismantled. I had no interest in helping Clootie, and I still don’t. I did a lot of thinking, and now I want to make amends. I’ve been hunting down his associates. You looked like you planned to spare Bubba, so I killed him. Then, by some stroke of luck, I saw Clootie enter town today and I tailed him. He moved so fast I lost him, until I stumbled across his horse at the jail. I saw him choking you, so I stepped in to help. I ran because I missed, and I knew you two would chase me down.”

Robert rolled his eyes like a teenager. He wouldn’t buy that story. Wyatt didn’t want to buy that story. But his gut convinced him different.

“Why hunt alone?” he asked. “Why not rejoin the Assassins?”

Lou laughed at such a question. He indicated the pout on Robert’s face. “What makes you think I’d be welcome? Look at Bobo here, throwing a fit!”

“Don’t call me Bobo!” Robert grumbled. “I’ve never liked that silly name.”

“Besides,” Lou added and ignored Robert’s continuous resentful glare, “it’s more efficient to work alone. I make my own rules. And with Juan Carlo and Julian dead, I’m probably more ahead and more together than the rest of you.”

Robert scoffed at that. Wyatt crushed out his cigarette.

“We all want the same things here. To take in Clootie and save the town?”

Robert groaned. He knew what Wyatt was doing. Lou nodded.

“Good. And I reckon you’re getting sick of the lonely life? Having to watch your own back, every second of the day?”

Lou nodded. A part of him looked like he hadn’t considered the loner life aspect of looking over his shoulder constantly.

“Rejoin the Assassins, Lou. We could use your help and what you’ve learned. Do it for the people.”

They needed all the help they could get. Robert angrily toed at the dirt.

“I doubt anyone will let that happen,” Lou said. Robert scoffed his agreement.

“They are not in a position to refuse.” Wyatt returned to his horse, deciding to make the choice _for_ him. “Come on, up! Let’s go.”

In all their years of friendship, Wyatt could see, for the first time, Robert disagreed with him. For the first time, he was mad with him.

“This is for the best,” Wyatt said between them.

Robert rode off.

-

Someone _actually_ threw a tomato at Lou.

The student-like awe the Assassins had for Wyatt was gone, replaced with scattered, simultaneous, incomprehensible refusals. The exception of Maggie Nedley, of course, who didn’t know Lou like the others. They were small in numbers, but still so loud. But Wyatt stubbornly stood his ground.

Ambrose was the only one not shouting his disagreements as loudly as possible. He actually tried to calm his people, but they refused to listen. Reasoning with Wyatt was all he had.

“I’m not so sure this is a good idea. Lou, he betrayed us. He hurt our people, and he hurt innocent folks. It’s best—”

“Turning the misunderstood away is unlike you, Fish,” Wyatt said, unmoved. Ambrose stammered.

“I-it’s not like that—”

“Lou has been on his own. He’s left that life, and just today he saved me from a run-in with Clootie.”

“Horse shit!” someone overheard and yelled. The others quieted down. Maggie walked closer from where she hid in the corner.

“You saw Clootie? He attacked you? Where’d he go, then?”

Wyatt was mad he couldn’t answer the question. “He knows what we did to his sons. Again. What _I_ did, excuse me. He cornered me and threatened me in the sheriff’s office, until Lou shot at him. Robert arrived in time to chase Lou, but Clootie slipped away from me. I went with Robert.”

“Huh.” Maggie scratched her chin. “I s’ppose that’s somethin’.”

“I can help with Clootie.”

Chaos erupted again at Lou’s offer. Maggie rolled her eyes and poured herself a shot of liquor. Wyatt almost wanted to let them keep yelling, until they tired themselves out. Like rowdy children running in the yard.

It was basically what happened, and twenty minutes later the group crowded in the homestead. They sat Lou down, and some made a show of reminding him he was outgunned. Ambrose inspected the journal Lou kept in his lone searching. He skimmed through it long enough to decide to give Lou a chance to explain himself. Maybe they _would_ learn something. Wyatt could see his conflict. Ambrose wanted to trust Lou’s information, but in these times trusting a traitor was a task too difficult. But they needed it. All four Clooties were spotted, and all four Clooties escaped. They had nothing to show for it, other than the knowledge the family could raise the dead and make people see nightmarish things. They needed to be stopped, before this witchcraft spread further.

Lou explained, at the start of this, Stevie and Peeper surrendered Purgatory’s law to Clootie. They didn’t fight, not after watching all their partners get killed. He called them boneless cowards, to their faces, but they were too scared to say anything back. Or say anything to the other criminals arriving to taunt Purgatory. They helped Clootie kill Juan Carlo just before Wyatt’s arrival. After that, Clootie fled. The deputies thought making a deal with the outlaws would keep them on Clootie’s good side, perhaps even gain them benefits. They staged the ambush in the Pine Barrens, together. The outlaws agreed because, Lou guessed, they believed Purgatory would become some sort of lawless sanctuary for them. Most of them were escaping outstanding warrants. Most of all, Stevie and Peeper were afraid because they were the ones who arrested Clootie. They were the reason he couldn’t help his sons in the shootout, Templar or not, because he was stuck in a jail cell. That is, until he broke himself out. Was still too late to help.

Big Bubba was commissioned to kill Wyatt and any others who’d defy Clootie, discreetly, but painfully. Something about the silent kill would terrify the citizens he hated so much, making them all think they were next. They would go paranoid and turn on each other. Bubba was newly on his own, losing his miracle medicine business and his brother in a correlating fight, and had two cents to his name. Clootie’s pay would set him on a better path. He put all his knowledge and confidence into the “perfect” poison, only to have it fail. The toxicity was too low. Low enough to give its user a window of recovery, and thus a window of survival. The money and resources loaned to him were completed depleted. Clootie was in a rush to go into hiding. He heard Purgatory’s last two deputies took Wyatt into the Pine Barrens to get a good name for themselves. Bubba assumed Wyatt would die there. He wouldn’t get paid. He masked the poisons as medicine and sold it instead. Clootie always whined about how he hated the people of the town. He figured this would be a favor. By the time Lou pieced all this together, Wyatt was already on the case. He’d survived the fallen deputies and the outlaws. Lou thought Wyatt was going to spare Bubba, so he killed him. All he’d been doing since Clootie took the rings and began his reign of fear was killing as many of his associates as possible. The only way to redeem his crimes. It was the Assassin way, destroying evil with a pointed blade.

Most importantly, Lou confirmed the suspicion; the ring was rejecting Clootie, as if it didn’t agree with his actions. He was hiding to avoid being done in too early. He _was_ afraid of dying. Inviting all his dangerous friends was an act of insurance.

Lou kept going. After the Clootie twins were killed, Constance rushed right back to her husband. Clootie was furious. He destroyed everything in sight in the saloon-hotel he was squatting in. He and most of his associates lived here, and those who didn’t always stopped by for a drink. They practically ran the place.

This is where Ambrose stopped him. “A corrupt saloon? No, our scouts would’ve seen that.”

Lou gestured around the room, indicating the remnants of the torn-apart Brotherhood. “There’s room for error,” he put bluntly.

“Ass,” someone muttered.

“That saloon is impenetrable,” Lou finished. “I couldn’t get him with my rifle, either. It’s a job better suited for a group, like you.”

The angry chatter broke out again. Everybody thought it was a trap. Someone threatened to kill Lou.

Wyatt didn’t know what to do. It was such an easy concept: storm the castle, kill the monsters. But the reality of it was the monster had vicious, violent men for help and wives with magical mind tricks. They could down the whole Brotherhood, in a blink. Have them kill themselves, even, without breaking a sweat.

The risk outdid the value. And yet, Ambrose was on board.

“Get your things together, everyone. We leave at nightfall.”

Ambrose hadn’t been the same since the visions. He was quieter. His friendly energy and smile were gone. Evidently, what he saw was too terrible to shake. Wyatt hoped his call was an educated one, and not one of desperation for this magic madness to end.

-

Wyatt hoped the distasteful eyes darting between him and Lou wouldn’t be a focus issue. He also hoped he hadn’t lost everyone’s trust. Those side-eyes weren’t slick. He saw them. This was the wrong time to start turning on each other. The group’s status was so frail already. Internal conflict would devastate them. This saloon job could very well be the last stand, right now.

It was nightfall when the group dismounted far from the saloon and snuck near the property like bandits. The big shootout that predated Wyatt’s arrival took a good chunk of the Assassins gathering intel and patrolling Purgatory, protecting the people from the lying, thieving Templars who took the town’s power and did their evils in plain sight. Mentor Juan Carlo died the day before Wyatt arrived. His right hand man, Julian, and a large percent of the group, died in the shootout. Of the many left with serious injuries, only six were alive today. Two were back on their feet, and one left to be with their family in what they believed would be their final days. Constance Clootie killed another, and another killed himself on the same day. One of those who helped against Constance, Junko, announced his resignation and left in a hurry. Recently they gained Maggie’s membership. The official, current standing was eleven, twelve with Wyatt, thirteen with Lou. Thirteen people against the rabble Clootie roped in. What a story this would be someday.

The Brotherhood’s quietest man, Hui, and the Brotherhood’s most extravagant man, Jarvis, stayed with the injured at the homestead. Hui was recovering from a gut wound and Jarvis a shot to the leg. The cane he carried was decorated as lively as possible. On the saloon raid was Lou, Wyatt, Ambrose, Robert, Levi, Maggie, Jimmy, and Miguel Gomez, the scout who initially spotted Constance Clootie. He was relieved he didn’t stay to track her. He had plenty of nightmares to be used against him, he claimed.

From what the team could see, the saloon was a madhouse filled with the many friends and enemies Clootie’s charisma racked up over his career. The few surrounding buildings appeared to be empty, likely abandoned now. Ambrose was embarrassed they hadn’t found this place sooner. Two men fought outside, while a small crowd cheered. Gunshots and laughter left the bar. Drunks tumbled over themselves outside and argued with slurred words. One shouted at the ground below him, cursing it for taking his beloved.

“And here I thought you wasn’t good for it,” Jimmy said. Wyatt’s eyes didn’t leave his binoculars, but he could feel the hostile expression on Jimmy’s face, and the guilt on Lou’s.

“I always keep my word,” Lou said. “You know that.”

Scoffs and other sounds of protest followed.

“Oh, stop with the belly achin’,” Maggie piped up. Both she and Wyatt sat through the spats of the torn Brotherhood for hours now. He wondered to himself who would snap first. “One of you is bound to get shot, the way you’re carryin’ on like children! Save it for later, you lot of fools!”

Ambrose laughed. Jimmy whistled, “You heard the lady, gentlemen. Let’s play nice. We’ll gut this traitor later.”

Maggie slapped Jimmy.

Wyatt tucked his binoculars away, but didn’t stop looking at the saloon. Deep down he had a bad feeling about this. He should’ve grabbed the new deputies, at least. This was technically their concern, too.

“Okay, how are we—”

Wyatt yanked out the binoculars again. Chatter stopped at his sudden action.

The back of the saloon was Constance and her husband, arguing. Constance was running. Her husband followed with half the pace. He was too busy yelling. Constance didn’t seem bothered. She mounted a horse and ran off. The faceless women chased, their black veiled dresses blending with the darkness of night.

“What’s he saying?” Ambrose asked.

Levi, next to him, answered with a focused eye and a guess, “ ‘It’ll never work. It’s pure stupidity. Rogue woman!’ I think. It’s real dark out. Constance and him splitting?”

“There! His finger!”

Wyatt zoomed in his lenses. Clootie’s ring was missing. “Splitting, indeed,” he agreed. “If she’s looking for her sons, she’ll find nothing.”

Ambrose made his orders. “Jimmy, Miguel, go tail them. Take no one alive, got it?”

Miguel laughed as he approached his horse. “I’d like to see James make that shot.”

They bickered all the way off. Mostly Jimmy telling him not to call him “James”, and Miguel calling him James in spite. Maggie called them children.

Clootie stood outside for a few more moments. He cursed his wife some more, according to what Levi could read off his lips, before he was silent. Thinking. The group tried to formulate a plan. Ambrose was mad no one brought a sniper rifle, not even Maggie, who was typically prepared for these sorts of things. Lou claimed to have lost his in a fight.

“You must know the way in, Lou,” Robert said. His former friend shrugged.

“I wasn’t inside for long when I was here,” he admitted. “Somehow they knew I wasn’t one of them and chased me off.”

“You can’t bring us half the information.” Wyatt never heard Robert so resentful to another person. He wasn’t sure Robert was capable of hate. But, he understood. If Doc ever turned traitor on him, he’d be bitter forever.

Lou was losing his respectful cool. “I think I brought you more than half, certainly more than you’d find alone. You, with those lenses! Couldn’t see the sun in the sky without them!”

“Please, you two, that’s enough,” Ambrose said.

“Children,” Maggie muttered under her breath. “I got an idea, gentlemen, if you’ll trust me.”

Something about that amused Wyatt. Maggie seemed the type to push for her beliefs, no matter the resistance she was met with.

Ambrose, Levi, and Wyatt lowered their binoculars to give her their attention. Robert and Lou found it in their hearts to stop staring hatefully at each other.

“I’m gonna sneak in there. Step in if I get caught.”

“Caught doing what?” Levi asked, stopping her by the sleeve. Maggie reached into her satchel and pulled out a stick of dynamite. Wyatt was impressed.

“That seems dangerous,” Robert expressed.

Maggie didn’t look like she cared. “We can’t just start a shootout, now. Didn’t go so well last time, correct?”

“Correct,” her peers exhaled.

“We ain’t got the numbers, neither. We ain’t as big as we was, so we need creativity.”

Everyone looked to Ambrose, and Ambrose looked to Wyatt. Their unofficial co-leaders. Wyatt didn’t agree with this, but, truly, they couldn’t go in and start unloading bullets. They were vastly outnumbered. Again Wyatt had his doubts on this raid. But Maggie was someone he trusted. He nodded his confirmation, and Ambrose followed with his.

Ambrose added, “Please take Mister Svane with you. Clootie doesn’t know either of you; Robert wasn’t here for the shootout and you weren’t in town yet.”

Wyatt was taken by that. Robert wasn’t here for the shootout?

For the sake of blending in, Maggie shrugged off her uniform, the same long, hooded robes all the Assassins wore. All but Robert, curiously. “Try not to step on my toes, Mister Svane. You’re clumsier than a blind, two-legged dog tryin’ to chase a bird.”

-

The pair were watched, closely. They tried to sneak directly to the back to place the explosives, but some thugs hanging around wanted to pick a fight. Maggie changed the plans, delaying them until the men were long gone, by shoving them aside. Apparently the action was good enough for her to be left alone; the men backed off. Her four onlookers circled as close to the rear as possible. Wyatt eyed the direct basement access, sitting clear as day. Could be useful. They readied themselves behind empty crates (why were there always crates?) and a stagecoach absent of horses. Probably the saloon’s supply vehicle. No doubt the owner was run out of town or plain killed by the new clientele.

There was no sign of Maggie and Robert the moment Maggie shoved aside the obnoxious drunks and reluctantly entered the saloon. Wyatt guessed the plan: enter, blend in, and leave. Act like they were supposed to be here, like they truly were here for drinks and not to blow the place to bits. They could get a good look on the building and its patrons for the fight, too.

Change of plans. Again.

Maggie and Robert were thrown out and robbed. That’s what they said when they walked back over with drooping heads and dragging feet. Robert was pressured into playing poker, and the patrons didn’t like how good at it he was. They thought Maggie was helping him cheat. So they took all their stuff and kicked them out. Wyatt tried not to laugh at the irony that was Robert’s typically awful luck in poker. Just couldn’t catch a break, here. Was it a sign to quit?

“What now?” Levi asked.

“It looked to me they were sneakin’ into the basement?” Maggie tried. “I saw the entrance behind the bar. That’s where I saw ‘em walkin’ when we left.”

Wyatt’s eyes found the outside entrance, finally unwatched and begging to be opened. All of a sudden the outlaws were piling inside in a hurry. They could salvage this plan. “Ambrose, you and I will get the items back. The rest of you wait here. We will complete our job here. We must.”

Ambrose liked that. Robert was too busy bickering with Lou to give Wyatt the usual, infatuated wishes of luck. Wyatt kind of missed it.

-

The basement was simple enough. Broken chairs, extra tables, supply shipments awaiting usage. Two goons, presumably the thieves, were too busy shouting over who got what to hear the creak of the descending stairs or the opening and closing of heavy doors. Ambrose easily dispatched them with two precise bolts. The one on the right barely noticed his friend was shot, and that he’d been shot himself. A funny thing, greed.

Ambrose’s face twisted in disapproval when he hoisted Maggie’s satchel over his shoulder. “Sweet crickets! How much dynamite did that woman bring?”

Wyatt smiled. “It’s funny to me she remembered the dynamite and not her rifle.”

“We all have our priorities, I suppose.”

“Maggie was a good addition, Fish. I think she got here just in time.”

“Certainly. I think her findings on Clootie were helpful. Juan Carlo said you should always know your enemy.”

Wyatt’s returning remark was interrupted. The basement access from inside the bar was cracked open. The rambunctious yells, gunfire, and smashing of glass ceased. A single man spoke, and all who were normally made to defy listened obediently.

It was Clootie, addressing the outlaws he invited. Probably trying to brush off the bad mood he was likely to be in, with Constance running off like she did. With his ring. Wyatt and Ambrose took a peek. A classic assassination from the shadows—it’d be perfect.

“Purgatory is a blessed land,” Clootie spoke, projecting all the charisma he’d built in his lifetime. “A blessed land misused by hicks who’d sooner bed a common pig than a woman. Though, to be fair, in these parts, the difference isn’t clear.”

Laughter followed, and Wyatt swore he relished in it, like the sound and affection was feeding him the air he breathed. Wyatt helped aim Ambrose’s silent crossbow through the restless crowd, trying so hard to land on Clootie’s head and the wide hat topping it before a body part or whole person moved in the way.

“This land, this vast, free land, should be used properly. Who better than us?”

A cheer.

“The crops won’t grow because the farmer is defective. The livestock die and run to escape lives even their puny minds know are better than bowing to inbred illiterates!”

Cheering.

“We need to service Purgatory. We need to make it the place it has the potential to be!”

Cheering.

“A home, for men like us. For men who dare think differently, who dare break the pathetic ‘rules’ the government has forced down to keep us all blind! To keep us all blind, miserable fools like the people of Purgatory, who work all day for nothing and look low enough on themselves to accept their scraps!”

Bellowing cheers, gunshots through the ceiling.

“We are pioneers, gentlemen. We are those who dare make a real life for ourselves. Purgatory is our home, our place of safety from fraudulent ‘lawmen’. Here, _we_ are law! _We_ are the judge, jury, and executioners!”

The cheering that followed threatened to shake the entire building until it completely tumbled over. Wyatt and Ambrose could’ve shouted their frustration in all the noise. Couldn’t get a single angle on Clootie, and now the man was leaving for upstairs, his form covered further by re-activated drunkards. Back to the original plan, then. One way or another, Clootie’s plot would be crippled today. Him _watching_ it cripple might even be better.

Outside, they were met with relieved faces. Apparently the team thought they were taken, the way they disappeared for so long and the way the whole place turned into a rally on and off. All of them met just outside, leaving enough room for everyone to place their own dynamite. Wyatt made sure to keep Robert and Lou separate, before their back and forth exposed everyone.

What he wasn’t prepared for was the group of men who climbed to the roof for a drink. And how they promptly caught the Assassins, yelling their find and beginning a brawl in record time.

They ran for cover. Maggie lit her fuse, and in turn the explosion would make a nice chain reaction. Wyatt and his long legs made it to cover first. He shot at the men above, who mostly dogged after Maggie and Robert, shouting, “We knew you wasn’t right!” Maggie made it safe. Robert tripped where a bullet landed too close to his feet. He didn’t maneuver right and stumbled, just in time for the explosion to throw him forward.

Various horses left the scene, riders not too proud to stay and get shot at and blown up for a reason not backed by a dollar sign. Those who weren’t taken by the dynamite or crushed by debris rushed onto the scene from the giant crater in the building. Maggie lit and threw another stick inside. It helped, but the numbers were still plain unfair. Wyatt was trying to focus on them and Robert’s slow recovery, all at once. His palms sweat enough to threaten the gun in his hands to slip.

When Robert finally stood to empty his breakfast from where it came onto the dirt, everyone at once was ready to run over and drag him to safety. More and more enemies poured in, it seemed, and they weren’t advancing at all. It was almost as if these people were enchanted by devilry, too—Wyatt shot the same man four times and he barely flinched!

He was going to call it. This was a greedy venture, he should’ve known that from the start. Hunt Clootie first. His minions would lose interest after he fell. Right? A chunk of them, at least. Those loyal to the “cause” of lawless Purgatory could be hunted down and sorted out. Maybe this wasn’t a total waste. There was a healthy chance they already scared off the smarter few who saw real trouble coming for them. Grab Robert, retreat, and live to fight on—new plan.

Some part of Lou was guilty about this. The odds weren’t for them. There was such resistance against his plan, but it was carried out anyhow. He was guilty, and Wyatt could see it in his eyes. In the way he moved faster than everyone else to help Robert along. Wyatt watched, in a mesmerized gaze, as Lou dodged _actual_ bullets, helped Robert on his feet, and got the dizzy man on his way. Wyatt and the group kept heat off him. Levi slipped away to gather the horses. No one needed to call a retreat. It was a mutual understanding. Both Wyatt and Lou got Robert on a horse, then they were gone.

Only the quickest of the outlaws followed. The quickest reaction, the quickest steeds, and the quickest draw. A bullet just barely flew past Wyatt’s eyes, before he killed the man responsible. Today was about as much a massacre as he thought. At least his allies—

Wyatt yanked his horse to a halt. Robert, a bit more coherent, followed suit. Both dismounted in a hurry and rushed to help Lou fight off the brave idiot who knocked him off his horse. Just as Robert did, earlier today.

But this was different. They were too late. The man fatally shot Lou twice in the head. So Robert tackled them and shot them close, just as they did to Lou.

“Lou? Lou? Lou, come on, old friend, we have—”

“Robert—”

“Lou! Lou! Let’s go! Lou!”

He was shaking Lou rough enough to kill him all over again, and shedding enough tears to drown him. Wyatt pulled him off and held him, to keep him from rattling Lou’s corpse. To calm his hysterics.

Robert turned and sobbed into Wyatt’s shirt. “Wyatt, Lou is—”

“I know. I know, Robert. We need to go. Do you hear me? We need to go, now. Come on.”

Robert stopped him. “We can't leave him alone!”

That was hard to decline. Loss was the devil’s work, in the rawest of forms. But on the one hand, there were men after them, men made of hate and always itching to kill something. Killing was their chosen profession and their favorite art. The rest of the team was holding for them, shooting those who still charged, but they couldn’t keep up forever.

Screw it. Lou was Robert’s friend.

They tossed Lou on his saddle, roped in his horse, and rode off. Their mates had their backs covered.

 

**_[END: SEQUENCE 40, MEMORY 223]_ **

**_-_**  

**_[START: SEQUENCE 40, MEMORY 224]_ **

**_[MEMORY START: AUGUST 12, 1888]_ **

 

Miguel and Jimmy returned hours later, just as Wyatt impatiently planned to go search for them himself. Sitting around waiting was driving him crazy. Ambrose, too, the way he paced around the whole house.

Jimmy was bruised, but fine otherwise, so Maggie snickered at him. “I’m so sorry, Mentor,” he said to Ambrose, “we lost ‘em.”

“ _Brujas_ and their devil magic,” Miguel mumbled. They all discussed before a fireplace, lit only for warming food. Levi spent the wait fiddling with the broken stove.

“They used their magic on you?” Ambrose asked. “How did you survive?”

“Miguel,” Jimmy answered, and all eyes fell on the man who claimed his nightmares were the best weapons to use against him. He scratched at his neck, awkwardly.

“What I saw _was_ scary, until I realized it was stupid.”

“And what was that?” Maggie asked. Miguel scratched at his neck again and muttered something,

“I saw machine people, chasing me.” His face went red with embarrassment.

“What exactly are ‘machine people’?” Levi asked. Ambrose was trying not to laugh. The Nedley cousins weren’t so kind.

“It could happen! We’ve got them light bulbs now! It’s only a matter of time before—Oh, forget it!”

“So you saved Jimmy because you was havin’ a nightmare too dumb to be scary?” Maggie wasn’t shy about her amusement. Miguel just stared at her.

“Anyway,” he tried, though it only made Maggie laugh harder, “I saw the women, leaving town. All of them, with their rings. It didn’t look they planned to wait on Clootie.”

“Fleeing, then? Whatever for?” Ambrose asked. He looked to Wyatt, who looked to Maggie. She was already gathering her things.

“Whatever they’re trying,” he said, we can’t let then get away with those rings.”

Ambrose nodded in agreement. “Miguel, Jimmy, go with her. Please be quick.”

They left within minutes, and with it everyone finally felt enough ease to get some rest. Wyatt stepped outside for the day’s last smoke just as Robert rode in from wherever he’d slipped away to. Lou’s body and horse weren’t with him, and the bags on his own horse were overstuffed. He had all of Lou’s weapons, too. The few Assassins on watch gave him looks of disapproval. Robert let a traitor on their turf, was all they knew, and they stuck to that tightly.

“I would’ve gone with you.” Wyatt’s voice seemed to break Robert from a deep trance. “You didn’t have to bury him alone.”

He led Robert inside and set him up with a glass of water, and some of the leftovers from dinner. Robert refused both.

“I am sorry about Lou,” Wyatt offered.

“I wish I treated him less like a dog and more like a friend.”

“Trust is not easy to gain back, especially in this kind of work.”

“I don’t think I was made for this kind of work.” Robert’s eyes were on the ground, but Wyatt looked at him.

“Nonsense! Nonsense. You did a fantastic job today, Robert. You scared those men into throwing you out, is how good you did!”

Robert wasn’t moved, in the slightest. It broke Wyatt’s heart a little. “I let someone else die, Wyatt.” He looked up. “My cousin, Julian.”

“I doubt that it—”

“Julian and Juan Carlo sent me to get you. It was my idea. We had a vote, and everyone said no, but they wanted me to do it anyway. I missed the shootout to ride to California to get you. When I arrived, I was going to send a letter saying I made it. There was one already waiting for me, from Juan Carlo. That’s how I found out.” A tear fell from Robert’s eye. “Am I a bad man, Wyatt? It’s why I stopped wearing the uniform—I don’t deserve it!”

“None of that is true, Robert. You are a good man. You are kind, to those who deserve no kindness. You are helping these people, from the good of your heart, and expecting nothing in return.”

He appeared to think it over, as if questioning its truth. “How did Jimmy and Miguel fare? Well?”

Wyatt respected wanting to change the subject. “The women escaped, but the boys and Maggie are searching now. Though I believe the trail’s bound to go cold, and with it I fear we may be starting over. Now that Clootie has no rings he’ll go back into hiding and we’ll be left to look.” He stood, sighing. “Get some rest, old friend. You deserve it.”

“Thank you, Wyatt.”

-

Wyatt woke to find the worst of news. Purgatory was a fort on lockdown. The outlaws became bold and took over the town bar overnight. They shot at citizens, harassed businesses, and kept eyes on all exits. When Wyatt tried to enter town he was met with a gun barrel in his face. The Assassins took the quiet corner these men were squatting. Took their peace. But Wyatt knew this wasn’t their idea. It was Clootie’s.

Clootie stood, on the stairs of the sheriff’s office, staring. Alone. Without his ring. He was accelerating things, because he was scared. More scared than before.

 

_**[END: SEQUENCE 40, MEMORY 224]** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The robot revolution is real 1k88
> 
> Lookie here, we passed 100k words! We are nearing the point where Doc will enter this story, I promise you
> 
> Sooooooo I done goofed up and now there’s a HUGE change in formatting to accommodate an important time skip in the next old west chapter, meaning the old west chapter that was supposed to be wedged between the next two modern days has been taken out, and now those two modern days are being combined. In other words, y’all get to wait waaaay less for Waverly, Jeremy, and Nicole to be reunited because this author cannot math wooo (so much for the dramatic pacing…). This change also brings up a big chance the weekly updates are done for now. Chapter 17 is mostly done but now covers much more ground than before so I can’t promise anything. Thank you soooo much for reading this headache of a story, it means the world to me. Stay fresh, you beautiful sunflowers (and don’t forget to pace yourselves in the fight for our beloved shitshow!)


	17. The Things We Do For Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, for continuity purposes, I've made some small changes to previous chapters:  
> -Chapter 3 (Sequence 2): Wyatt thinks the Assassins are cowards, because they hide behind their robes and hoods  
> -Chapter 11: Waverly and Nicole don't get an external hard drive not because of money, but because Jeremy prefers not to keep all the data in one place (I cannot believe I missed this one, oof)

_October 27, 2016_

She was pulling whole week’s worth of memories in one day. To compare: the first time she used the Animus with the Assassins, she did half a day and took a whole twenty-four hours off.

The thanks Wynonna got for surrendering to blackmail and working forcibly for a shady, secret government organization to gather information on magical storybook items was two pairs of hands forcing her to her legs and back into her CEO office of a cell. Clearly she’d been moved somewhere else, because this room was about twice the size of the last. And the new bed, admittedly, had the most comfortable blanket she’d ever felt and equally comfy mattress. At least the bad guys had the nice stuff. Sure beat sleeping on the floor with no heat and a rowdy cat smashing everything all day and all night. Damn, she missed that cat.

“Be ready first thing in the morning,” one of the guards said.

“What specific time is that, exactly?” she tried. But they were already gone, the door slamming and the electronic lock buzzing closed.

Her spiteful, rebellious exterior dropped the second she was alone, and plunged into deep worry. Worry for Waverly Earp, whose name turned out to be the most important one here. It was just, and Waverly was certainly the hero the world deserved, but the problem with being a hero is the constant villainy trying to extinguish it. For instance: this entire situation. Wynonna didn’t trust Black Badge. They wouldn’t keep their word. Any minute now and she’d be sharing this “cell”. She was terrified. Nicole was probably a step from death’s door. Screw it, she was probably, actually dead! She failed. She failed Nicole. She failed Mama. She failed Willa. She failed _Waverly._ This was the nightmare scenario. This was the thing that wasn’t supposed to happen. Nicole gave up a fresh start in life for this. Waverly threw herself into a secret agent war for this.

“I was supposed to keep you safe, baby girl.”

The door opened. Wynonna shot up from her thoughts at the edge of the bed and reached for her waist. Then let her wrist dangle. There was no Peacemaker, dummy.

It was Dolls, and before Wynonna could let off her threats, he was apologizing. Sincerely. Compassionately. As in, with _emotion._ So he wasn’t half-cyborg, half-dragon. There goes her movie idea.

“Black Badge covered it up,” he said vaguely.

He stepped closer and opened up an email on his phone. Evidence of the abuse towards Willa. Her first day forced into the Animus, and the last day, when she didn’t wake up. Every time they revived her exhausted heart. Every time she had an episode.

“They knowingly lied about your sister’s treatment and blamed her death on the Assassins, to all of us.” If guilt had a picture in the dictionary, it’d be Dolls’s expression. “I had no idea.” His head shook. “They kidnapped her, just like they kidnapped us. Me.”

Wynonna was looking him over. Suddenly regretting everything bad she’d ever thought about the “evil” Xavier Dolls. He truly was a pawn in this awful game.

“I tried to tell you,” she said, quietly.

Dolls bit his lip, worrying it. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Okay, this _had_ to be another crazy Bleeding Effect dream. “So what, you’re gonna go full mutiny?”

She did not expect him to say yes. And yet, he did.

“Someone needs to stop these people and their kidnappings.” His fists clenched. “Their experiments.” He looked to Wynonna. “Tell me what to do.”

“What about your meds?”

His fists clenched tighter. “This is bigger than me.”

Damn, she wanted to accept that offer. But this was hostile territory. Dolls was a soldier. Good actor, too, maybe. She wasn’t about to send the full force of Black Badge down on Waverly and a half-dead-at-best Nicole.

“I can’t,” she declined.

She flinched when Dolls reached into his puffy jacket and pulled something from under his arm. He was hiding something. She wondered about his attire; it was stupid hot in here. And his arm was clung tightly to his body, as if he was giving himself a firm side hug.

When Wynonna saw the shimmering of Peacemaker under the fluorescent lights she nearly passed out. Mostly because Dolls was offering it, not aiming it. She accepted it as an old friend and stroked its extended barrel. Clicked the cylinder open. Fully loaded.

“Hide it under the mattress,” Dolls instructed. “I tampered with the cameras, so no one will see. They think you’re sleeping.”

Wynonna quirked an eyebrow. “Wait, there are surveillance cameras in here?”

Dolls nodded.

“Shit. Good thing I skipped Me Time last night.”

“When the time is right, use it. For now keep it hidden. They moved you completely underground. There is no possible way I can help you out right now.”

She nodded. Not a bad plan, Moody, moving her into a room that probably didn’t exist to most employees. She guessed he was too dumb to do it before. Or further inability to find even ground between him and Lucado.

Screw caution, she decided: “I told Waverly to go to the homestead. The Earp homestead. Nicole is hurt.”

“What if they don’t trust me?” He stopped and corrected, “What happens _when_ they don’t trust me?”

“I’ll tell you what to say.”

-

“Waverly!”

Nicole’s eyes flew open. A disturbing feeling, a sick feeling, came over her. It was dark outside. Pitch black dark. There was careless rustling downstairs. Across the attic Calamity Jane had the same interest, pacing in anxious circles. Whining. Circling the attic entrance and scratching at it to try and open it. Nicole heard it, too, whatever it was lurking the Earp property.

Something wasn’t right. She closed her eyes and listened.

“There! Don’t you hear it? It’s a cat!”

“It’s an old home. Probably just creaking.”

 _Now_ Nicole got up. She threw the blankets off, and, laying on her right side as usual, pushed herself up with her stronger arm until she was upright. The effort was exhausting. Her elbow shook with protest, but she pushed herself. There was a moment to catch her breath. Then she was hurriedly swinging her legs over the side of the bed and slipping on the boots waiting for her atop a box. It was a trial to bend over, but she pushed through it.

Under the pillow she’d slept on was grabbed the pistol Waverly left behind. Eight bullets in the clip. It was cold. Felt like she was holding pure evil. But she couldn’t really use anything else, right? It would have to do. Whether she liked it or not, it was time to get over it. Be brave. Waverly was in trouble, she could feel it. If Wynonna could be mature about using a gun, so could she.

Good lord, she was looking to Wynonna Earp for wisdom.

Calamity Jane wanted to tag along, eager to see who it was intruding on _her_ land. Disturbing _her_ beauty sleep. But Nicole kept her from leaving, even hid the feline behind the stacks of boxes, on the bed.

“Try not to do anything rash,” Nicole asked of her.

She tilted her head in question. _Me? Rash? Never!_

Nicole descended with no ease, stifling pained grunts and waiting an embarrassing amount of time to recover from climbing down a ladder of all simple things before opening the closet door.

Eased the door open, followed the sound of voices. Old wood complained under heavy boots. Owners of the heavy boots complained how long this was taking. They were in Willa’s room. Two voices, only ever checking in with each other. Easy. Hopefully they were the only ones in the house.

The stairs were directly in front of her, where she stood against the wall just next to the doorway. Safety off. A breath. She knocked her knuckles lightly against the frame and waited.

“I’m tellin’ you, man, someone’s here.”

“Yeah? I thought we were here to paint the walls, not look for someone!”

“Hate that I’m stuck with you.”

One approached the doorway to inspect the sound. Nicole placed the pistol in her left hand and used her right to slam the shorter man’s head into the door frame before shoving him down the stairs. He tumbled backward, his gun flying out of his hand and his head banging against the end of the bannister at the bottom. While he rolled down, Nicole shot the second in the knee. Second had fallen over, but kept reaching for his holstered weapon, so she shot him again in the hand. He cursed about it, holding his gushing hand as she strode over slowly, death’s cold promise in her eyes. He skipped his threats and jumped to begging. Then mixed them somehow. Nicole knocked him out, too.

-

Her head pounded so aggressively that she groaned when she woke. She tried to rub it, but found her hands unable. Tried again, but found further something was constricting her by the wrists.

Something was wrong.

She jolted to full awareness in a terror that was becoming all too familiar, her wide eyes trying to scan the whole room at once.

“Jeremy!”

He was cuffed to a chair, the same as her. Bruises and cuts littered about his face.

“Hey,” he answered, quietly. One of his top canines was missing.

“Oh, god, Jer—”

“Is _she_ okay?” His eyes darted around. The way he skirted around Nicole’s identity was clear their captors were near.

“She should be. Where are we?”

“A house, I think?” He indicated their surroundings with a nod. Waverly took a second, slower, better look.

Someone’s bedroom, for sure. Abandoned. The old chipping bedframe was layered in dust, as was the accompanying mattress sporting deep human-shaped imprints. The only item on the faded dresser across from them was a picture frame. Waverly squinted at it.

“Is that Grandpa Mason?”

Jeremy looked at it too, as if he had the answer to the question. “We’re at the Gibson house?” he guessed with her.

“Has to be. I—”

The door opened. A tall man walked in, his ballistic vest half undone and flapping against his chest with every step. He ran a hand through his long blond hair, then his beard, then he sat in front of Waverly. And had the audacity to _smile._

“You shouldn’t have robbed that old couple, missy,” he said to her. “They reported it. Guess who their closest neighbor is?”

“A family of hungry bears?” Waverly asked. He humored her a chuckle.

“The police thought it was strange no valuables were taken. Just food and toothbrushes and pants.” He stroked his beard again. “Y’know, we took eyes and ears off your house because we thought it was a waste of time. We thought you were too stupid to go there. Then your friend here—” he tossed a gesture at Jeremy— “gave you up. He gave you up. What ever happened to loyalty, right?”

Waverly eyed Jeremy. He looked ready to burst into tears.

“Waverly, I’m so sor—”

“It’s okay,” she promised, tossing a shaky smile. “It’s okay.”

The man clicked a switchblade open, and both Jeremy and Waverly gasped at the quickness of it.

“Where’s the rest of your team, huh?” he asked. Waverly kept a tough face. Like Wynonna would.

“You’re a monster. You already have Wynonna. Isn’t that enough?”

He stood so suddenly she jumped. Then he circled her like a vulture. “Maybe I should pay your auntie a visit, huh? Maybe you’ll talk then.”

“Nicole’s dead.” She might’ve said it too quick.

He studied her, for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“Fine,” he sighed. “Have it your way.”

He calmly put his knife away and undid the handcuffs holding her hands behind her. He re-clipped her left to the chair leg and held her right in a bruising grip.

“This is your last chance. Where’s the rest of your team?”

Waverly didn’t answer. Jeremy was frozen in fear.

“Fine.”

Waverly screamed when he broke her finger.

-

The only word for this was maddening. There was absolutely no time for this and yet, nothing in the universe felt suit to cooperate.

There was her shoulder. _Good lord,_ her god damn shoulder. Her arm, too. Just wouldn’t cooperate. Especially not in the way she dragged the two men into the kitchen—one from all the way upstairs—and plopped them down on their own chairs. Blood tracked all over the house. After all the work Waverly put into cleaning the place up.

And now there was this. The two men themselves. One too scared to speak, one too proud to properly answer a single question. The proud one also happened to be the one responsible for the weak arm she was unable to punch him with, and it was clear he remembered such a thing. Both men just refused to cooperate.

It was maddening. There was no time for this!

Didn’t matter how many times she hit him across the face. He just wouldn’t break. Too proud. It made her furious, the way he smiled a devil’s smile, like this was a fun game. Like it was fun, watching her punch him with half of her normal strength, knowing he was the one did this to her. Knowing she was powerless with nothing better to do than reel her fist back, put all her strength into a simple punch, and stop to groan and refuel. These Templars, all they were capable of was taking and taking and _taking,_ even while cuffed helplessly to a chair and suffering two bullet wounds.

Her last punch was so hard she swore she was getting stabbed all over again.

The proud man _laughed_ as Nicole leaned on the table next to her for support. Her eyes screwed shut as her shoulder shot with pain.

“Why don’t you let me finish the job?” he asked. So. Damn. Proud with himself.

Nicole eyed him, with all the hate in her heart. Hate she wasn’t aware she had. She stared into his eyes coldly, long enough for his smart smile to wash away into a dumb expression. It was a moment of long stare and pained exhaling before she pulled up a chair in front of him. Her body kept its sour-noted song.

“You gonna give me a little dance, sweetheart?” His need to act tough was on par with the song.

“Stop wasting my time,” Nicole snapped. “I will ask you again: where are they?”

“Who? The rest of your circus? I don’t gotta tell you nothin’.” His foul grin reemerged. He was well aware of what he was doing. “I can keep this up all day, bitch.”

If ripping this guy’s head clean off was an option, she’d do it. Her narrowed gaze somehow managed to narrow further, her hate radiating brighter than any and all of the kitchen lights. “So can I, asshole,” she returned his challenge.

His eyes traveled, observed. Observed the way she sat. Her left hand resting in her lap. Her right holding the weight of her entire upper body steady with the help of her thigh. It took no genius to see the awkward way she sat in her chair, leaned to the right so the seatback didn’t touch her wound. He was proud to observe, “Doesn’t look it to me.”

She shook her head in frustration. “I don’t have time for this.”

Without warning, Nicole reached for the table on the right and plunged a knife into his unwounded knee.

“Fuck!” he yelled. “Fuck, you fucking psycho bitch Assassin!”

She quickly realized this sight, this proud asshole who started this pain echoing throughout her, wasn’t as she craved. She wanted him to suffer like her. He wouldn’t help, so he would suffer. He wouldn’t help Waverly, so he would suffer. But she wasn’t prepared for the _screaming._

His partner looked fit to fall into a panic attack. His chest heaved with short breaths. Tears streamed down his face as curses and screams filled the house. Nicole felt her hate wavering.

But it couldn’t. These men were evil. They were kidnappers! They were murderers!

Her hand found home on the knife’s grip. Chef knife, good length. Wasn’t leaving its new home. “Where the fuck are they, asshole?”

“Disneyland. Try the Tower of Terror!”

She found herself impressed with his stubbornness, given the situation he was in. But that quickly dissolved into pure annoyance. Clock was ticking.

Her hand twisted the knife embedded deep into the man’s good knee. She couldn’t look at him while he screamed a second time. Her eyes fell on the red gushing out of him onto the wood below. The more he squirmed, the more fell. Waverly worked so hard to clean this place up.

“Where is the girl?”

Mister Pride was reluctant to answer, whether or not he intended to finally be truthful now. “I—I ain’t never seen no girl in my life.”

The expression Nicole returned was terrible enough to make the quiet man squeak in fear. She’d almost forgotten he was here. He was scared. Such a thing was perfect. This madness would finally come to a close.

She stood with a silent grunt and absorbed threats from the untamed man of pride, knife still at home in his leg. Perfect. He was finally scared.

The quiet man was given the same treatment. He yelled when the first punch stung him. The second, and all the way to the fifth, when it became a duet. His tough, stubborn partner was the one doing the begging now.

“Please! Please, that’s my baby brother! Stop!”

Nicole humored him, but he said nothing. Still wasting her damn time. Her fist raised again to meet its quivering, pale target.

“STOP!”

She punched. Once, twice, thrice, until she simply couldn’t anymore. Until both men were equals, bloody and drowning in equal pools of tears. Then she stomped over to older brother and made the pistol tucked in the back of her waistband known. It was time to _finally_ bring this home. Clock was ticking.

“Your friends have a brother of _mine._ Jeremy Chetri. Guess which one I care about more?”

He struggled against his own pair of handcuffs and snarled, “You fucking—”

“The girl, too, the one you took from her own house!” She gestured around, waving the gun like a loon. “This beautiful house you’ve gotten your blood all over. Why don’t you have some decent manners and tell me where you’ve taken her, huh?”

“We only just got down here from headquarters! I don’t know nothin’!”

The pistol turned on his baby brother. Both men broke into a sweat. “That’s not good enough for me. Think long and hard.”

“Uh, uh, B-Black Badge! Black Badge! Yeah! Back to headquarters!”

The answer was so sudden, so gleeful, so easy.

He was lying.

Nicole shot his little brother through the head.

She let the older cry and slobber over himself as he repeated he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know . . .

Eventually Nicole felt the urge to cry and scream and shout, too. He really didn’t know. Waverly wasn’t at Black Badge offices, she couldn’t be. No, it was too far. Why send new men away, all the way to the homestead? It didn’t make any sense. Their purpose for taking her was to locate the rest of the team. They’d keep her in the area for that, somewhere quiet and secluded to get her to talk. _Then_ they’d drag her off elsewhere, once everyone was accounted for, to never be bothered with again. That was the plan. That _had_ to be the plan, because otherwise Nicole couldn’t rescue—

She shot the man in the chair, and right away his sobs faded to silence.

A sharp pain suddenly shot through her shoulder. She held onto the counter on her left for support. Breathed in, out. The moment’s momentum crashed to a halt and inertia launched her out the window. She just tortured and killed two men. Brothers. They had parents. What if _they_ were parents? What if they had other siblings, other family—

“Get your priorities in order, Haught,” she told herself.

They took Jeremy. They took Waverly. Wynonna was their tool for evil. Rosita was gone. This was war.

She found herself tossing her thoughts and guilt aside for now and rushed for the door. A car was pulling up. A black SUV. She saw Xavier Dolls, alone, exiting. No backup in sight. She clicked her gun’s safety back off. Today wasn’t his lucky day.

-

When Dolls was inches from the front door, Nicole slammed it into him and made a point of shoving her gun in his face. She was expecting that calculated but tired way he had. She was expecting a threat sewn into a “negotiation”. A whole list of demands she wanted to print out and smack him with. Nothing. Hell, he even put his arms up and surrendered.

“I’m here to help.”

Huh. That’s one hell of a negotiation.

“I know where Jeremy and Waverly are.”

Nicole didn’t budge. He was probably responsible for taking them in the first place. She wasn’t stupid. “Where? The end of the barrel that’ll blast my brains out?” Her finger hovered over the trigger, instead of safely next to it. No need to account for accidental discharge. “Go trick some other idiot.”

Dolls’s hands clenched in a defeated frustration. “I’m working with Wynonna,” he persisted. “She said to call you—uh, she said to call you ‘Phoenix’.”

Nicole’s tight aim twitched slightly. Nothing more. Of course Dolls knew this; Wynonna said it at the greenhouse. “Where’d she get the name from?”

Dolls had a second to recall, “From the tattoo on your back.”

Her eyes twitched with contemplation. Sure, it wasn’t a common fact. But this was Xavier Dolls. She couldn’t trust Xavier Dolls. She simply couldn’t. He was Black Badge. He was the enemy.

“Come on,” he flashed a rare, tiny smile, “you’re injured. I could’ve taken you by now.”

 

Nicole suddenly realized she was leaning against the doorjamb, and her head was drooping slightly. She didn’t bother toughing out a passing look. She leaned more into it. “God, you’re an asshole.”

“Okay,” Dolls’s fingers rubbed against one another, his arms getting tired from being raised for so long, “she also told me to tell you her first ‘field job’ was catsitting.”

“Cat’s name?”

“Calamity Jane. Your childhood friend picked it out.”

If Dolls was lying, he would’ve killed her, right now, because she lowered her gun in shock. The shock in knowing Black Badge’s top agent, super soldier Xavier Dolls, her unofficial field rival, was now her teammate. Calamity Jane would not have come up in interrogation. Calamity Jane didn’t have a name tag, so the people who looted the mine couldn’t have known.

“Shit, you’re telling the truth.”

Dolls’s hands finally lowered, slowly, and he nodded. “You can thank Wynonna. She showed me the right way around.”

Nicole snorted. “Yeah, the Earps have a habit of doing that.” She tucked the gun away. Dolls barely had time to do anything before she asked, “I know this is bad timing, but where’s Rosita?”

Dolls fumbled with the car keys in his hand as he pulled them out. Then he paused. It looked like an idea came to him. “Hold that thought.”

Nicole stopped him as he tried to enter the homestead. “Dude, really?”

He fell serious. _More_ serious, rather. “They’ll recognize me. Any chance you’ve got a spare uniform?”

Nicole deadpanned. “Oh, don’t I wish. Check inside. There’s two bodies. I’m sure you’ll find something.”

“Great. Be right back.”

She waited in the snow, alone, for Dolls’s advanced super soldier fashion skills to kick in. She found herself laughing. It was hilarious! Xavier Dolls, her partner? A month ago that was a crazy thought. Hell, a week ago that was a crazy thought.

But then so was the idea of her _torturing and killing_ two men.

Dolls emerged from the house with his pick. A buttoned up heavy flannel jacket that probably belonged to Ward, a pink bandana that definitely belonged to Waverly, a pair of boots also belonging to Ward, and the stetson she’d taken off of “Pride” earlier.

“Pink, huh?” she teased. “Didn’t take you for the pink type, but alright.” She walked over and took the stetson off his head, only to put it on hers. “The hat is a definite no, though, please. Find a beanie or something. I know I saw one inside. Wait, why is it hat _wet,_ Dolls?”

He eyed her. “I don’t know where it’s been.”

The _fire-breathing super soldier_ was a germophobe. What a day.

Dolls went inside, actually listening to her advice, and returned with a black beanie.

“Is this okay?” he asked, looking slightly annoyed. Nicole nodded.

“Sure. You’re using a different gun, too, right?”

“I don’t have a different one.”

Nicole swapped their weapons. His Black Badge-issued Glock for the silver Beretta Waverly found. When he walked for the car, she stopped him.

“My question.”

“Not now, Haught.”

She grabbed his shirt when he tried walking again. “Right now.”

His answer was the white noise echoing in her ears as they drove.

Something about the air was colder. It stung her bones as they drove and she sat, numbly, even with the heat kicked on. She stared. There were two suppressed pistols in her lap. The hidden blade in her hand was a stainless silver, gently used, wrapped in black leather. When she opened it, a face stared back at her. So she closed it.

Black Badge declared Rosita dead. The report stated the last person she killed, in her entire career, was herself. Dolls couldn’t locate a body, but he found her things. He told Nicole to think nothing of it; Black Badge was unreliable. But how could she _not_? Something was telling her she needed to believe this, the same something that was telling her Waverly and Jeremy were nowhere safe right now.

Nicole didn’t react when Dolls told her. She didn’t know how to. She remained still in the snow, where he’d told her, before silently entering his truck. She was prepared for this to happen, but she wasn’t _prepared for this to happen._ Shae, gone, two months ago. Everyone she ever knew, gone, two months ago. Ewan included. Rosita, gone, less than a week ago. Wynonna, her new friend, gone. Her parents were gone before she could know them. She’d seen them in the Animus, but she’d already forgotten what they looked like.

Who was next? And why was she always left behind?

How the hell was she supposed to keep those who remained alive? How was she supposed to protect them? She was willing to put everything on the line. There was nothing off the table. But right now it felt even this wasn’t enough.

No.

She had to get Wynonna back. She had to save Jeremy and Waverly. The universe wasn’t pushing her down anymore. The universe was going to take a god damn seat in the back and _watch_ her save her team.

-

The SUV was hidden from sight in the back of the Gibson property’s large, two-story home. Dolls handed Nicole a pair of binoculars and the two made a game plan based on the quiet land and what the night's moonlight provided them. Three cars outside, not a soul walking the property. Must’ve all huddled together indoors for warmth, no doubt.

“There’s my van,” Nicole said. “They have to be here. Jeremy was driving it.”

“It’s, uh, a nice van,” Dolls commented. What a strange thing to say.

They checked their weapons outside. Dolls’s trunk had its own private cache of ammo. Of course, there weren’t any extra guns, certainly nothing automatic. That’d be too easy. Nicole left one of her two new pistols, zipped up her coat, fixed her new hat, and stuffed extra clips into her pockets. She’d never gone to war wearing sweatpants before.

“Are you sure you’re alright to use that?” Dolls asked.

Nicole was inspecting her gun, apparently carrying the type of expression that’d surface a question like that. What she was really doing was looking at the engravings on the thing, not figuring out how to shoot it. She shot him a pointed look.

“If I couldn’t use it, why the hell would I have it in my hands right—”

“It’s just, uh, I’ve never seen you with a—”  The new expression in Nicole’s face proved how terrible Dolls was at this. He retried, “We should focus.”

Nicole sighed to herself as Dolls walked off. “At least he’s _trying_ to make this less awkward,” she mumbled.

Dolls pulled up his bright pink bandana, pulled his dark beanie as low as possible, then they were off. Adrenaline seemed to overcome Nicole, the way she followed along without lagging. Her left arm still ached, but not enough now to cause a huge hassle.

They paused by the back door. Quiet chatter inside, not much else. Dolls asked Nicole if she was ready.

“Just try not to shoot me again.”  She tried to pretend teaming up with Xavier Dolls against his own men wasn’t a weird or highly risky concept. They were about to become best friends, or even bigger enemies. For all she knew this was an elaborate trap he set up.

“I’ll take the lead. Don’t strain yourself. I’ll watch your back.”

All the alarms blared in Nicole’s head. He’d step in, turn his gun on her, then cart her off to jail or wherever.

And yet, she followed him.

Dolls kicked the door in and dropped flashbangs. A small crop of men were sharing drinks and playing poker. Nicole sent Dolls along and shot them herself. He listened. Maybe he really was on their side now.

Nicole was not cautious about lethality. She was here to remove threats to her people, not drink tea. She didn’t give it a second thought. The only thing on her mind was her team. Waverly.

Dolls was capable. He was a super soldier. So Nicole let him handle those on the ground floor and headed up. The captives were always in the place hardest to reach. Had to be upstairs.

Her left arm hung like dead weight, while her right put all its strength into shooting. Two thugs rushed the stairs. She shot the first in the head and the second, further away, in the arm. He dropped his gun, and in his panic to grab it she dashed over and smacked him with her own pistol. Steps rushed down the hall. She grabbed the stunned man with a now bloodied face as best she could with her bad arm. She hit him in the head with the gun again, when he tried to break free.

The sight bought her some time. The others gathered in the hall following the sounds of gunshots froze in their steps. Nicole didn’t bother negotiating. She had no interest. The only thing this man was to her was a shield, as she fired at the others. Five total. She killed two before they decided their co-worker wasn’t worth it and shot back. She let off three blind shots and rushed into the open bathroom next to her for cover.

There were threats, demands, and shuffling footsteps. Gunshots echoed from downstairs. She forced her gun out and fired twice more. It shot quietly, suppressor doing its job, allowing her to hear the scream ripping from someone in the hall. She peeked. Two on one, now.

One on one. Someone tried to charge into the bathroom but Nicole shot first. Idiot was probably hoping to surprise her.

Clip changed. This last man was a faster shot. Dolls was busy downstairs, likely stuck in the same type of duck-and-shoot scenario she was. Time to get creative. The greenhouse was long abandoned, but some items remained. Her eyes, in their quick scanning, fell on a decorative soap holder sitting by the sink. The moment it was thrown onto the other side of the hall her opponent shot the flying object in a panic. She was waiting, peeking her head and gun muzzle out just in time to see the dumb pause on the man’s face when he saw it was nothing. And the following look of surprise when she finally shot him down.

No time to celebrate. Not yet. She checked every empty room, her feet dragging along old wood, until she was left with the master bedroom. There was a long breath before she pushed it open. Didn’t budge.

Something told her to move. She wanted to dismiss it as paranoia of some sort, but she just couldn’t. This was war, and paranoia was a saving grace.

It was a split second decision, the type where the primal survival instinct humanity buried so deep down need to reemerge and take over. _Danger. There’s danger,_ her body warned, and her limbs took executive action over her modern calculating brain to force her away, as if the door itself were about to explode and consume everything in its wake in a black hole. She watched as multiple bullets plowed through the wooden door and ravaged the very spot she was standing in just a split second ago.

There wasn’t much room to think of it or panic about what she almost didn’t do, because she’d rammed herself against a wall so fast she was rudely reminded a knife was in her shoulder just days ago. But, on the plus side, it gave her an excellent idea.

Nicole gave a loud, pained grunt. The shooting was called to a halt. The question “Did we get her?” and other debates filled the space. She peeked through the bullet holes in the door and shot every person in sight.

Dolls made it to the second floor the moment the last person she could reach fell. Impossible to tell if there was anyone left. The left of the room had a corner to it, providing a huge blindspot. Nicole whispered to Dolls to cover her, and he loyally prepared to fire anything that moved. Like a genuine teammate.

She shot the lock and pushed into the door, against the small nightstand bracing it shut, until it opened. Unfortunately she misjudged the nightstand’s weight, and her unnecessary ramming force brought her crashing to the ground. A blond man peeked from behind the room’s bed and made to shoot her. Dolls shot him first. Dolls shot all his targets. He really wasn’t lying.

Dolls tried to help Nicole up but she stubbornly directed him to help her peers. He double checked the bodies on his trek across the room, gun still drawn and body still in tactical mode. He toured the adjoining bathroom, too. Jeremy and Waverly were behind that corner blindspot, quietly trying to piece together who this masked mystery partner was. Nicole slumped against the ground and felt the need to laugh. They were here. They were safe. They were alive.

The mystery partner’s identity wasn’t Waverly’s biggest concern. The second she was cut loose she tossed the pink bandana staring back her a thankful glance and rushed to help Nicole off the ground. Nicole insisted on staying leaned against the wall, sitting, to catch her breath. Waverly was safe, so her adrenaline was slowing up. The feeling of the cuts and bruises she accumulated over the week reemerged.

The stetson stolen from the man at the homestead was being handed back to Nicole. A wide smile was with it, too. “Nice hat.”

Nicole could kiss that smile. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“We’re scratched up, but we’ll live.”

Nicole’s eyes fell on Waverly’s fingers. All five on her right hand, broken. Cue the fussing. Waverly returned with her own concerns about Nicole’s shoulder. All the way until Jeremy joined them. He didn’t look healthy, either, and looked guilty about something. It didn’t take a genius to guess what that something was. Nicole motioned him to sit next to her. Waverly pulled them all into a group hug. There was nothing in the world able to beat the feeling that came with it.

Nicole couldn’t believe there was a time she didn’t want to be associated with these people.

The moment they broke, Nicole was apologizing. “I made a mess at the house.” All that work Waverly put into cleaning it up.

But Waverly didn’t look bothered in the slightest. The most she had was humor. “What, did you and Calamity Jane get bored?”

Nicole shrugged. “Like cat, like human.”

-

The moment they stepped foot in the Earp homestead Dolls played the part of a perfect gentleman and tossed corpses outside. As gentlemen do. He was also kind enough to scrape the blood off of everything. He insisted it was the least he could do, for technically putting them in this position in the first place. Nicole felt more doubts to his loyalty fade.

Nicole’s grand contribution to fixing her mess was finding and lighting scented candles to drown out the _smell_ that accumulated. Afterwards she took on the role of doctor for a change, to Jeremy and Waverly. She got Jeremy situated with an ice pack, and cleaned the little wounds scattered about is face. On Waverly she used paper clips and their only roll of medical tape to splint her fingers. She also let Waverly squeeze the life out of her arm when she did so.

“All set,” she declared after. Waverly’s entire face was screwed shut.

“It doesn’t feel all set,” Waverly strained. Nicole rubbed the back of her good hand and flashed a reassuring smile.

“It’s nothing whiskey won’t cure.”

“Agreed,” Jeremy said from the corner, digging around the cabinets for just such an item.

“There’s some in the barn,” Waverly said genuinely. No complaints; whiskey sounded heavenly.

Nicole planned to go get it, but the coughing fit that erupted out of Dolls stopped her. He was nearly floored by it.

“Jesus,” she said, “I might put _you_ in the barn.” She put a hand to his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

He admitted, “Probably not. I don’t get my next round of suppressants until Monday. Happy Halloween, I guess.”

Jeremy stood from the chair he’d just sat on seconds ago. Concern was laced about his face. “You don’t have any meds?”

When Dolls’s head shook, Jeremy left without a word. Nobody really knew what to think of his sudden exit. Waverly gave an uncomfortable grin. Nicole fiddled with her new hat.

He returned with a box and unloaded the contents onto the freshly-scrubbed kitchen table. Right away he started following closely a handwritten list. Dolls dropped the brush in his hand.

“Your friend Rosita—Wynonna said she was a chemist.”

“Yep,” Jeremy replied. His focus went unbroken.

“Did she figure it out?”

“Yep.”

“How?”

“The old HQ!” Nicole said. She shook her head and laughed to herself. “At the beginning of the month, after that fake ring at the dig site heist, she broke team rules and went into town. She told me she visited the old headquarters for weapons.”

“She didn’t go for weapons,” Waverly caught on.

“She went for her old research.” Nicole sat down, across from Jeremy’s busy measurements and next to Waverly’s wide eyes. “She was always working on something, growing up. A big project. She was always talking with Ewan about it, and he was always mad because she never finished. Every time I asked, she didn’t answer. She’s been at this for years.”

“Yep,” Jeremy said. He lifted a tube and inspected its contents.

“But why? And why not tell us?” Waverly asked. Dolls was nodding his head in understanding.

“She did it for us. The soldiers. She was going to try to make a deal with the super soldiers to leave Black Badge. None of us liked it there, but we couldn’t leave. Our lives depend on the suppressants. Devolving is worse than death.” He coughed again, almost to prove his point.

And she probably told no one, including Nicole (especially Nicole), to avoid a large debate on risk versus advantage.

Nicole asked, brow furrowed, “But if it was done, why did she wait? Why not make the deal?”

“That’s my fault,” Jeremy mumbled in his shame. “She finished it the day before the attack, with all of the problems solved. She completely cured the poisoning part. She told me everything, and I was trying get her a private meeting with Staff Sergeant Quinn. The super soldiers mostly report to him. I would get him sent to a remote location, and she’d make the offer. But,” he sighed, “I got caught. And screwed everything up.”

“No,” Dolls stopped him before anyone else could, “that’s on me. You know the IT team. They don’t care. They only noticed because I made them do actual work. It’s my fault you’re all in this situation.”

Nicole mumbled, “If you’re buyin’—” before Waverly smacked her arm. She _was_ spending too much time with Wynonna.

Jeremy offered the fully mixed serum to Dolls. The time for deals was riper than ever. “If I keep making these, will you keep helping us?”

Dolls felt the room’s eyes on him as he stared at the serum. He pulled his injector from his jacket pocket and took the tube gently. “I’ll help because it’s right, not because you’re paying me.”

Jeremy happily shoved his shoulder, but so hard the tube nearly fell out of Dolls’s hands. Dolls glared at him. “Uh, I—I always knew you were a nice guy!”

Still, Dolls took a cautionary step back. “This is good. Half of the super soldiers are ready to start a mutiny. These fixed mixes should help get them on our side.”

 _Our side_. Dolls’s new teammates found themselves with new hope. Rosita might have been gone, but she was still helping them. In the biggest way possible.

-

The men Nicole killed uncharacteristically (a discussion they decided to put on hold for now) decided to raid the fridge and destroyed—or ate, possibly—almost everything. The food Waverly stole and Jeremy bought was gone. Dolls also said there was talk about the “missing” team he and Nicole handled. Officially, he was out trying to “find” them. They’d need to move soon. Jeremy and his only surviving laptop, the “lucky” one left in the van at all times, were on it, cycling through abandoned properties throughout Purgatory. He sat on the porch with one of the Glocks, on guard shift. Mostly to escape the smell of death that clung to the inside of the home. Dolls finished the mess upstairs before joining him.

Waverly joined Nicole by the couch downstairs, after she was finally persuaded to rest instead of help. _I have another hand!_ she’d tried, but apparently Dolls was a true gentleman. Or really just _that_ guilty.

She played music in the background. The fireplace sang along with its own crackles. Nicole wasn’t asleep yet, but her eyes were closed. Didn’t want to sleep, frankly. They were both quiet as the day’s events hit them. Waverly, the fear that came with being taken, and the news about Rosita. Nicole, the guilt that came with assassination. Waverly noted to never steal from the elderly ever again. She felt at her broken fingers and let the song that played hit her. Mellow, layered in emotion.

“What song is that?”

Nicole felt Waverly’s head move from where it rested against the couch, just next to Nicole’s own. She always sat on the floor. “Um, ‘Numbers’, by Daughter.”

She heard Waverly yawn. Certainly sounded tired. In a sad way, not an adorable one. “How old?”

Waverly noted the funny way Nicole’s voice sounded. Probably just tired. It always sounded like that when she was. “This year. January.”

_I feel numb in this kingdom._

Nicole opened her eyes, searched for Waverly. Already watching. “Sounds sad.”

Waverly nodded small, her eyes moving to watch below. Didn’t say anything else.

_I feel numb, make me better._

“She’ll be alright,” Nicole offered, and Waverly looked up from her hands with worry plastered all about her face.

“How do you know?”

Because Wynonna Earp wasn’t built to quit.

Nicole was relaxing, feeling her eyes fall shut. Her stubborn desire to stay awake was losing. Everything felt slower. “Because she’s Wynonna. And you’re at risk, so she’ll eat the building brick by brick if it means keeping you safe.”

Waverly gave a snort at that.

“She’ll be alright.” Her words were a little slower now. “She’s not lettin’ you down. Never ever.”

Waverly looked at Nicole. The funny talking—not her sleepy voice. Was it an _accent_? “ ‘Lettin’?” she repeated, amusement coating her previously somber voice. Nicole furrowed her brow.

“Drugs got me changin’ dialects.”

Waverly felt a smile again, though it died as quickly as it arrived. “Where did you grow up, Nicole?” Waverly always assumed she was Canadian, but now it didn’t seem the case.

“I’m from Houston. We stayed there a while before movin’ on. The guy who taught me to read had an accent, so I picked it up from him.” She peeked one eye open. “Yeehaw.” Waverly shook her head, amused again. “When I was young I loved to read.”

Waverly leaned her head back against Nicole’s. Her left hand picked at loose strings on her own blanket. “What happened to it? The accent. The reading thing I can fix.”

Nicole chuckled. “We went north and I didn’t like bein’ the odd one out, so I got rid of it. Mentor seemed fine with it.”

She fixed some strands of hair from Nicole’s face. “Well, I like it.”

“We better get Wynonna back so I can teach her a proper old timey impression.”

A small laugh from Waverly, then another pause. Nicole could feel her wander far away again.

“She’ll be back annoyin’ everybody before you know it.”

Waverly closed her eyes. “I hope so.” With an exhale her eyes opened back and examined Nicole. Cowgirl wasn’t sleeping. “How’s your back?”

Given the super badass (partial) one-woman army thing she did just hours before. Must’ve been awful, the way she made a show of the Templars. An occasion she’d probably enjoy if not for said burning, agonizing pain.

Nicole‘s eyes were still closed. “Moderately well.”

Air was too strong. “Are you sure? It just—it doesn’t feel like you’re okay. Or maybe I’m being paranoid and weird and anno—”

“I didn’t say ‘okay’.” Nicole was smiling at the return of Rambling Waverly. “I said ‘moderately well’.”

Damn that accent was cute.

The song was over but she could hear it; _I feel numb, make me better._

“Can I raise it up to ‘okay’?”

Nicole defensive humor deflated. Quietly, she said, “Fourteen.”

“Fourteen what?”

“I killed fourteen people today, Waverly. That’s fourteen sons, fourteen brothers, fourteen fathers, fourteen—”

“Hey. Shh. It’s—”

“Rosita wanted me to be a good person. Shae used to say I was a good person. What kind of good person kills _fourteen_ people? I don’t even _want_ to say what I did to those two guys in the kitchen.” She exhaled a furious breath. “They would be so disappointed.”

Waverly sat up, offended for Nicole’s sake. “Hey, that’s ridiculous. Neither of them would _ever_ think that. They both knew you well enough to know _never_ to think that.” Maybe was speaking personally, too. “You did it for us. You saved us, from terrible people who wouldn’t _think_ to question if what they were doing was wrong. You’re so hurt and-and broken, but you saved us!”

Nicole’s eyes closed, to try and trap in the tear trying to escape her. “I couldn’t save Rosita. Or Shae.”

Tear fell. Waverly wiped it away with her finger. She would give anything to take that pain away.

“Hey. They’d be so proud of you, Nicole. So proud. They know you tried. They know you’re still trying. But what they’ll never be is disappointed in you. Okay?”

Nicole nodded, whether she really accepted it or not. What she did know was Waverly was saying it, and by now she knew for fact not trusting Waverly’s word was pure stupidity. “Okay.”

Waverly ran a hand through Nicole’s hair. To calm her. She was met with a shaky exhale.

“You are a good person, Nicole Haught,” Waverly whispered. She rubbed and soothed until Nicole fell into slumber. Then kissed her forehead. “The best.”

-

Waverly was happy to know, with Calamity Jane back, she could feel less alone with her thoughts. When Nicole slept, all she could do was think. Her favorite thing about Nicole was her grounding energy. Nervous I-got-a-crush-on-you rambles aside, Waverly felt most at ease when Nicole was around. From the second they met. But now, with her painful condition she could barely be here. And that, Waverly learned, was an awful thing.

She really couldn’t do this without her.

Calamity Jane shifted in her lap and jumped to snuggle up to Nicole on the couch. Jeremy was approaching. Little lady really hated men. Earlier she tried to hiss Dolls to death. This was improvement though, because she normally left the room entirely. Maybe she _was_ grateful he saved her life.

The ice pack was pressed to a different of his face when he sat. There were plenty of places that needed attention. He flashed Waverly a small smile and Jane nothing, not even the scowl he’d grown accustomed to giving. The cat almost looked offended he didn’t acknowledge her. Dolls told them privately about Rosita during their house cleanup. So of course Jeremy wasn’t in the mood right now.

“Dolls is heading out,” he said, quieter than usual with the way his mouth ached. “He’ll keep acting like he’s working for BBD, to keep in touch with Wynonna.” A pause. “I hope she’s okay.”

“Jeremy, you have to know this isn’t your fault.” Waverly wouldn’t let his earlier comment go unaddressed. Then she laughed to herself. “Everyone’s so noble around here.”

“Well, it’s not like someone else walked into BBD’s offices and gave us away. Nope, it was me! And I told them about the homestead, too!” His voice began to crack. The ice pack fell from his hand.

“You were scared and in pain.”

“It was _all_ me. I got Rosita killed, I got Wynonna captured, and I got Nicole stabbed.”

Waverly stared at him. “The only thing you did was give us valuable BBD intel, feed us, finance us, and keep Nicole safe in the field. You kept them from building an Animus compatible with _corpses_ . You supplied us with our own Animus, one you built yourself! You helped us save Wynonna in the first place. You tried to help Nicole feel normal. You went back to the mine, alone, and saved Calamity Jane _and_ Nicole’s life. That doesn’t sound like a screw up to me.”

When a shudder and a sob ripped through Jeremy, Waverly pulled him into a hug.

“It took a _super soldier_ to find you, Jeremy. They had to cheat to beat you!”

Something about that was funny. So he laughed and laughed, until his stomach hurt. He missed the feeling of laughter. “I guess so.”

Their commotion had Calamity Jane jumping down to inspect. For the first time in their long, largely unprovoked but mutual rivalry, she called a truce and forced herself into his lap. Jeremy laughed harder, happier. Calamity Jane purred.

-

_October 28, 2016_

The kitchen emitted noises of boiling water, a knife—the one that wasn’t plunged into a man’s leg the night previous—cutting fruits most curiously left untouched by unkind intruders, and old music. First thing Nicole saw when she entered was Jeremy, asleep at the table with his laptop out, charging cable dangling off the side. Waverly was next to him in the small space, waiting for the water to boil for tea and absently cutting strawberries. As best she could with her non-dominant hand. It was the first time Nicole ever saw Waverly Earp with a hopeless look in her eyes. No telling what was moving through that big brain of hers. She greeted Nicole flatly when she heard the fridge open. Usual eye contact forgotten. Just focused on how royally screwed they were, even with the possibility of super soldiers recruited to their side. Wynonna was still missing, after all. And with everybody injured now, it was easy to feel hopeless.

Nicole heard Jeremy’s impatient video game character knock on their futuristic watch, stuck forever in the menu screen seeing as Jeremy was snoring his head off. She knew that game, and she knew the song it played. And damn was it perfect for their exact situation here. She eyed Waverly from behind the fridge door. Jeremy played this game plenty back in the mine, so much that Nicole practically had the in-game radio’s songs drilled into her head. Good thing here.

“ ‘ _You’ve got to spread joy up to the maximum, bring gloom down to the minimum’.”_ A lesson she learned herself, because of these people, and damn would she reteach it if she had to. _“ ‘Otherwise, pandemonium liable to walk upon the scene’.”_

She let the next verse escape to stop singing into the fridge and looked at Waverly, completely forgetting to retrieve the water her dry mouth so desired. There was a small smile on Waverly’s face. Nicole leaned against the fridge and stared at her.

“ ‘ _Man, they said we better ac-cent-tchu-ate the positive, e-lim-i-nate the negative, latch on to the affirmative. Don’t mess with Mister In-Between. No, don’t mess with Mister In-Between’!”_

Waverly gave an appreciative laugh as the song came to a close, and Nicole, satisfied, finally poured out her drink. Waverly continued with the fruit as a game character gave a news update before another song played. Nicole knew that one, too, and a brilliant idea hit her. She quickly set aside the glass and water filter in her hand and offered it to Waverly.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, confused. But she trusted Nicole, always, and took her hand anyhow.

She let Nicole walk her off for the more open space in the hall behind them. Nicole slowly put her hands on Waverly’s waist, searching her eyes for any protests. None. She swayed them to the song.

_Don’t know why I left the homestead_

_I really must confess_

_I’m a weary exile_

_Singin’ my song of loneliness_

Waverly’s hands, one together and one broken, found the back of Nicole’s neck as the next verse went on, Bob Crosby singing about his home.

Nicole got brave after that and spun her. Waverly accidentally getting stuck halfway because she bumped into Nicole. Neither minded, they just laughed.

_The girls are the prettiest_

_Way back home_

They stepped together more lively now, Waverly’s left and Nicole’s right hands entangled as they waved up and down, feet slowly moving around to the living room. Giggling when they didn’t stop together Nicole accidentally tripped over a chair. They were both too busy staring at each other to pay any attention. Neither minded.

_The love the liveliest_

_The life the loveliest_

In their happy world, they froze. Pulled to another like magnets.

_Way back_

_Way back_

The cold tips of their noses grazed one another as the song came to a close, breaths close enough to taste, hearts pounding hard enough to bruise.

_Way back home_

_No place like home_

_Sweet home_

“Hey, Haught!”

Nicole and Waverly jolted apart at the unflattering sound of Xavier Dolls, his footsteps creaking from where he entered the kitchen. The two collected themselves in a red breath and dutifully ignored the second occurrence of an almost kiss and returned to the kitchen, trying to appear as casual as possible.

“Oh, there you are,” he said in that oddly intimidating voice of his. Waverly retreated back to her strawberries, quiet. Jeremy was rubbing his eyes awake. Nicole tried not to eye Dolls too hatefully.

“What’s up?” she asked. She may or may not have gritted her teeth.

“I have some news.”

Nicole sat by Jeremy and motioned Dolls to go on. Waverly turned off the kettle as it whistled. She poured tea for everyone, and put the strawberries in the center of the table.

“Haught,” Dolls went, “you were asleep. Waverly pitched me her aunt’s house. I spent today, with Jeremy’s expertise—” Jeremy yawned in acknowledgement— “double checking all surveillance on the McCready ranch was down. I planted bugs around the office, too. No one knows. A team will be sent here within the hour, so we need to leave, now.”

Nicole suddenly realized there were boxes stacked by the front door. What little they had barely stacked to the knob. She mumbled, “I need to start sleeping less.”

-

They were out of food. Out of money. Jeremy couldn’t take from Black Badge anymore, and between his and Waverly’s personal accounts there was just over a dollar. Waverly considered hitting up Mercedes for “donations”, but she was out of town on business. Dolls bought dinner the previous night, but the purchase was flagged and he spent forever at BBD trying to justify such a large food expense for one man.

The team’s wanted level was a heated debate. Moody, having the living shit scared out of him at the boat encounter, wanted them arrested and executed before him like some sort of medieval king. Lucado knew the dangers of greed and wanted to let the team be, deeming their capture an unnecessary waste of resources. If they spread themselves thin, Wynonna’s security was in jeopardy. The men who attacked the homestead, according to Dolls, were sent in secret. The second team was being sent to find the first after Dolls reported he didn’t know where they were.

So they found themselves on the porch of the McCready home, waiting for its single occupant to open up. Nicole leaned on Waverly for support. She didn’t totally need it anymore, but Waverly insisted. Just in case. Dolls kept his head on a swivel, searching for signs of trouble. Jeremy gave in to alcohol and drank away the swollen aching of his gums and stinging of the bruises on his face. At least he lost his tooth in a cool, badass way. And had a black eye to show for it.

Gus barely reacted when she saw her technically missing niece, a tall woman with a scratched up hat and scratched up face, a stern-looking military-type man, and a depressed-looking guy with a black eye sucking on a flask. She just looked them over, unimpressed, and eyed Waverly’s pleading, guilty smile that said _I know you’re probably mad at me, but . . ._

“I’m not gonna ask where you’ve been,” she said, and Waverly’s shoulders dropped. “Where’s your sister?”

“Trouble.” Any more than that could get _Gus_ into trouble.

Gus’s arms crossed. She looked Waverly over further, particularly the homemade splint on her fingers. Noted the way Jeremy drank on one side of his mouth only. How Nicole’s left arm hung like streamers off a tree and the other held onto Waverly. Their hands were entangled. She recalled Waverly, sometime in the past, telling Champ she hated holding hands. Yet here she was, clinging tightly to some girl’s hand.

“You all look awful. Especially you.”

She singled out Nicole, who just nodded in agreement.

“Come on,” Gus motioned them inside, “get inside. Get warm.”

The interior, at first glance, was a “T” shape. There was a patio area outside, and inside they were immediately met by a kitchen. Directly ahead was a living room scattered with old couches and an even older TV. Jeremy smiled at the sight of a VCR. Waverly took them without thought around the corner, to the dining table, and settled Nicole into a chair. She and Jeremy sat. Dolls was fixed on the windows. The walls in this room were more window than wall. They gave him a perfect field of view of outside. Beside the table was a wood piano and a winding staircase. Cabinets were present, their purpose mostly for holding alcohol.

“You’re lucky I haven’t started dinner yet,” Gus said. She wasn’t asking them to stay for dinner, she was _telling_. Dolls had flashbacks to his old drill sergeant. Nicole wondered how Wynonna got away with anything.

Gus left shortly to grab some liquor. Glasses were already on the table. She used the bottle to point to Waverly. “You gonna introduce me?”

Waverly presented her peers with the title “agent” so Gus could fill in the space to the questions she clearly didn’t plan to ask. Waverly hoped it’d ease whatever worries she wouldn’t show. When she explained Nicole had a back injury, Gus passed over the liquor.

“What’re you here for?” Gus asked with Wynonna levels of bluntness. She wasn’t dumb; this wasn’t a visit.

Waverly flashed another pleading smile. “Early Christmas gift?”

Gus leaned against a cabinet. “Guns are in the barn. There’s some canned nonsense your Uncle Curtis got that’s wastin’ away in the pantry.”

“We also need a place to stay.”

Gus didn’t even think about it. “I’ll get the rooms ready.”

Waverly darted across the room and hugged her aunt. “Thank you so much, Gus!” She parted only once Gus swatted at her back.

“You can thank me by not dyin’ on me for Christmas.”

Waverly gave her one last kiss on the cheek and took the boys to the barn. She always regretted not grabbing those guns, in her initial search for Wynonna the first time she went missing and when she discovered Curtis’s connection to the Assassins. Then it was too late and she didn’t want to risk putting Gus in harm’s way. Good thing she didn’t; they would’ve lost it all in the mine attack. Or, she wondered, would it’ve helped?

-

Nicole wasn’t quite sure what to do. Gus insisted on setting the table and declined every possible attempt she made to help. When she stood, Gus put a halting hand up, told her to sit, and pointed at the liquor bottle. Frankly, she was kind of scared of Gus. All she could do was obey and squeak out, “Yes, ma’am.” Her throat burned with whatever devil’s brew was in the bottle.

Gus sighed at that and poured herself a drink, so she got freaked out all over again. And _again_ when Gus downed it like nothing and didn’t even _flinch_.

“You got manners, I like that. Waverly’s never found one with manners.”

Nicole’s eyes widened. “Uh, we’re not—”

“Yeah, I know you’re not.” She drank again, refilled hers and Nicole’s glasses, then resumed setting the table. “That was my thinkin’, too, when I was her age.”

Nicole blinked. Was she really playing matchmaker right now? “Uh, M-Miss Gibson, we’re really not—”

“Gus.” She turned fully to make her point, and Nicole felt herself break into a sweat. “Ain’t no ‘ma’ams’ or ‘Misses’ here.”

“Yes, ma’a—um.” Now would be a good time to be shot by Templars. Or perhaps stabbed one more time.

Gus made her way back to the bottle, poured more drink, and sat in front of Nicole. “Alright, you drank my hooch, so now you gotta be honest.”

(She had a choice not to?)

“Is Wynonna in danger? Is she dead? That girl’s trouble but I don’t want her dyin’ on me.”

Nicole tried to keep as vague an answer as possible. Even if they’d be better off with Gus Gibson leading the charge. “No, they won’t kill her. She has information no one else has.”

It was technically the truth.

Gus drank. “Did they kill Willa? Were they the ones who attacked the homestead?”

Nicole saw that look in her eye. These were her girls. The last of her family, too. Underneath that stone face, Gus was just a sweet, worried old woman. Nicole didn’t try to lie. “Yes. Willa died two months ago.”

She wasn’t expecting virtually no reaction. “Did you try to help?”

Again, the truth. “Yes.”

The tension balled up in Gus seemed to loosen. News, after being in the dark for so long. “Thank you. I can tell you’ve been lookin’ after my girls. You’ve got that about you.”

Just as Nicole suspected: Gus was terrified. She flashed her kindest smile.

“They look after me, too.”

-

It wasn’t the full lotto but it was enough. They were good on handguns, given the team Dolls and Nicole took out was sent in secret and couldn’t have long guns or assault rifles. Anything not a handgun was for field work only, and Lucado kept watch on the armory to keep Moody loyal. Because apparently he wasn’t her boss. The barn provided two bolt-action rifles Jeremy could add scopes to, and another shotgun. Plenty of ammo. It would do.

Dolls didn’t eat much, because he’d been on a healthy schedule. The only reason he took food at all was because Gus basically forced him to. Meanwhile his new teammates wolfed down everything Gus threw at them. After rationing food for this long, a little looser in the mine but much more strictly in these past few days, they earned the right to go all out. Dolls made conversation with Gus, who told old stories about the Earp girls. Wynonna’s failed attempts to sneak out. Willa building a snowman before knocking its head clean off with a bat. Waverly’s many, many, many achievements. Achievements Waverly didn’t realize Gus, in her lacking emotional expression skills, was immensely proud of as opposed to bored. Dolls noticed, as well as Gus, all night long, Waverly and Nicole held hands. They didn’t seem to notice, themselves.

-

What little they owned was moved into the house. Gus gave Nicole and Jeremy some of Curtis’s and teenage Wynonna’s old clothes. Waverly already had a stockpile of things she left when she made the mistake of moving in with Champ. Apparently he’d stopped by the ranch recently, drunk, begging Gus to convince Waverly to take him back. She chased him off with a shotgun.

Jeremy took Wynonna’s old room, with its terrifying wall graffiti and faint cigarette smell. Nicole took Waverly’s old room, faded paint where posters used to be and a lingering scent of perfume in the air.

Waverly was supposed to be bunking with her aunt. But apparently she couldn’t sleep, the way Nicole heard her pacing about the house. Downstairs, for water. Back to Gus’s room. Back in the hall, to look at decorative family pictures and store-bought portraits of landscapes she’d seen a million times. Then back to her old room. Nicole didn’t say anything. She let Waverly hang in the doorway, where she seemed to debate coming in before actually doing so. Her eyes went all about the room, from the poster marks to the bookshelf in the corner. Eventually she settled on grabbing a book and pulled her old desk’s chair next to the bed. She used the dim light in the hall to read. Childhood habit; she always read past bedtime.

She always got caught, too.

“You can sit on the bed,” Nicole said, and Waverly jumped out of her skin at the sudden sound from the person she assumed was sleeping. Nicole peeked an eye open. “Come on, it wouldn’t be the first time we slept together.”

Waverly’s eyes were narrowed. There was a hand over her pumping heart. “I hate you. So much.”

Nicole smiled. “Come on. You’ll just fall asleep and fight a stiff neck all day. I’ve seen it all before.”

Waverly was too tired to argue. She settled on the other side, book in hand, switching on the bedside lamp before she hit the bed. “I’m using the light. Before you talk me into that, too.”

“Sleepy Waverly is grumpy.”

Waverly grunted her protest.

-

_October 29, 2016_

Nicole wasn’t surprised to wake in an empty bed. She was surprised to hear giggling, at the foot of it. Her teammates, sitting in front of a small TV. Playing a game, an old one judging by the funny way it looked. Some guy with a mustache and a red hat bumped his head onto boxes. A mushroom let him grow in size. Nicole blinked. A mushroom?

Didn’t matter. What really caught Nicole’s attention was the giggling. The smiling. How into this silly game they were, from every muffled, nervous squeak to every victorious laugh. She couldn’t control the contagious grin forming on her lips. They were here, alive, safe, with faces full of joy. There were no problems right now. Just a funny little game.

It was all Nicole could ask for. Every single thing she did, from the two brothers to the house of enemies, was worth it. These fine people, these people she once wanted absolutely nothing to do with, were worth it. Giving up that fresh new start and that brand new life, was worth it. Because, until they were burying her next, these people were her new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thing I love most about this act is the little quiet moments between the characters, like the fireplace scenes and the dance scene. Everybody and everything has to slow down, and I really like playing with that.
> 
> Just to clarify: I had to combine these chapters because without the extra suspense between them, splitting them didn’t really make any sense because both had the same goal of saving the team. Hope y’all’re good with longer chapters (they’re great to write but a nightmare to edit oof). The next chapter will be a bit of a wait too because it's kind of kicking my ass and I've had to start it over a few times. It'll be an old west chapter (only two of those left!) ad we may or may not get to see an old friend of Wyatt's...
> 
> Also I'm on Twitter now! Feel free to drop by and yell at me! [@RJAwritesathing](https://twitter.com/RJAwritesathing)
> 
> Songs used in this chapter  
> Numbers, Daughter [(S)](https://open.spotify.com/track/05jFhbrKpgEOURy9gkWRTa?si=bKoUKtC-Tw-KWVv1yuwCAw) [(Y)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z-fD3PIRSO8)  
> Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive, Bing Crosby, Vic Schoen & His Orchestra, The Andrews Sisters [(S)](https://open.spotify.com/track/7uGGLm4sqDBDrEChiSwxvN?si=4C52jVTkSgajlRmD5X1dyA) [(Y)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AtEJRe40Jd4)  
> Way Back Home, Bob Crosby & the Bob Cats [(S) ](https://open.spotify.com/track/2Mqggm27ZkH3EyscmCDnIg?si=HdUmCDjmRSO3bqWZfo9qqA)[(Y)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ir1A74UA2YE)


	18. Sequence 40: Allegiances

**_[SUBJECT: WYATT EARP]_ **

**_[SOURCE: WYNONNA EARP]_ **

**_[START: SEQUENCE 40, MEMORY 257]_ **

**_[MEMORY START: SEPTEMBER 14, 1888]_ **

Two months Wyatt had been here now, and for all the time he put in all he had to show for it was two undead sons, re-killed, and the town he was called in to protect taken by those he was meant to fend off. He began to question his entire career. Was he out of practice, or was he always a lousy lawman? A lousy fraud? The same Sunday Purgatory was overrun, Clootie’s desired plan to suffer the town slowly now out to waste, the outlaws burned down the church. One fool said it was a christening. Cleansing, “for the people of Purgatory are sinners”. Because the outlaws’ lifestyles as killers, thieves, and general annoyances _wasn’t_ an offense.

Wyatt and Robert took a figurative page from Lou’s book and led the fight against the outlaws. Ambrose was against it, because pouring all their limited resources into finding the rings was best, in his eyes. Few Assassins were in on the hunt, others were interested in locating the rings, and some floated between. Maggie and her search party returned, with nothing. No leads, no ideas. Currently, most of the Brotherhood was combing every inch of Purgatory, while a small portion was setting elaborate traps and killing as they were meant to kill.

The first few guys were easy. The individuals who were more hot-headed followed tricks into obvious ambushes. Assassins teamed with surviving Purgatory lawmen to handle them. By now, a month into lawless Purgatory, only the strong and smart remained. The same was said for the Assassins. The deputies, too.

Ambrose was too busy, or maybe too polite, to put an end to Wyatt’s plotting and Robert’s clear (perhaps dangerous) need to avenge Lou. Town deputies were dying or quitting. Five new people joined the Assassins, and four were dead within the same night. Two standing members were killed. Hui was injured again, just as soon as he healed up. Both the Nedley cousins suffered leg wounds—though Maggie seemed okay to use her time on bedrest to bond with the new woman who joined. Work frustrations were driving everyone mad, and disputes broke out as regular as the morning sun and evening moon.

The Brotherhood was falling apart.

When Wyatt returned from the next town over, making use of their post office, he barely flinched when he heard loud voices originating from behind the house. By this point it could be a new music genre. But Robert rushing out of the house and pulling him along was new.

“Goodness,” Wyatt said, “where’s the fire?”

“There’s a man. In the house!”

“Okay. What kind of man?” He shoved Robert’s tight grip off his arm.

“An imposter!” Robert’s eyes were almost comically wide. Any further and the damn things would pop right out. Still, Wyatt was too tired to share the same level of interest.

“Oh, good. We could use some entertainment.”

This was above jokes, the way Robert grabbed him and pulled him again. They nearly fell over their own feet circling to the back, where Robert shoved Wyatt through the crowd. At first glance, it was a indeed a man. Just a man, with nothing entirely special or urgent about him. He was smoking. Clearly not reading the room, the way he laughed and tried to swindle his way into a more hospitable greeting. There was an unfamiliar horse standing a few feet behind him.

Something about this swindler was familiar. The way his voice bounced in an artistic symphony, because talking, to him, was an art of its own. His persistence. Hell, his _voice._

“I am no actor, sir. What actor could capture _this_ essence? And choose me, of all the great bastards in this fine country, to impersonate?” He laughed, but everything about it was wrong. It was full, uninterrupted. Uninterrupted by what?

Coughing. There was no coughing.

The man turned around, and Wyatt swore his heart stopped. This had to be fake. It wasn’t real. He was tired and seeing things. This was a dream, because this man was dead. This man was his best friend, and his best friend was dead and buried. This had to be a trick.

“Doc?” Wyatt’s voice was quiet. “Doc Holliday?”

The man, real or imaginary, smoked the last of his cigarette before crushing it out. His hat, that same old hat from all those years ago, left his head for his hands. He smiled, fully.

“At your service.” The hat was returned to its rightful place on his head. “You old bastard, Wyatt, how could you start all this up and not have the kindness to invite me? Even ol’ Bobo is here.”

Robert cringed at the nickname.

In front of everyone, their protests, and their skepticism, Wyatt welcomed Doc with a hug.

“Hey,” someone said, “what the hell! This could be a trick! What about the mind magic?”

Such a thought didn’t phase Wyatt. This was too real to be a trick. No magic could replicate Doc Holliday. It simply couldn’t be. Besides, he was fully exposed now and absolutely nothing happened. If this was a trickster, they weren’t a good one. If this was an illusion, it didn’t make any sense. Illusions weren’t real, and had no reason for risks; an illusion wouldn’t wait to quietly slit their throats. No, this was the real thing. Wyatt knew it in his heart.

“Stand down,” Wyatt declared. He ignored the shocked outrage glaring down at him. “This man is our friend, not foe.”

-

The lasting tensions and growing distrust stemming from the time Wyatt made his deal with Lou worsened. Everybody was sure Doc was fake. If the magic could summon nightmares, they could summon illusions, or hell, why not some sort of clone. But Wyatt was so sure, so stubborn, in his beliefs Doc was a unique character. An imposter would be as obvious as a dark stain on a white shirt.

Robert was his friend again, too. He had no reason to be mad anymore; he was angry Wyatt trusted a traitor like Lou, and now he was grieving the traitor Lou because the traitor Lou was a dear friend who died unfairly. Almost as dear as Wyatt. The missions they’d been running kept them close, and would surely fail if their trust was frail. Their reignited friendship only seemed to bring more daggered stares. Robert supportive of Doc Holliday’s return didn’t help that case.

They sat on the porch. Ignoring the cautious eyes and hands fixed on guns, as if anyone could hope to take on Doc Holliday’s draw speed. Robert sat on the left, Doc on the right. Doc buzzing like a bright light and Robert back to his awkward, shy roots. Like he didn’t know what to say to Doc. Actually, Robert never seemed to know what to say to Doc, Wyatt realized. He could ask later.

“And that—” Doc finished his tale— “is how I liberated that fine steed. I call her Lavender. And I assure you, Johnny Law, it was perfectly legal.”

“Yes, I’m sure you didn’t cheat once or pull your strap.” Wyatt laughed. Doc made a mock face of insult.

“Why, Wyatt, I would never!”

The cigarette Wyatt was smoking was crushed out, its short length crumbling into nothing with the force of it. “I cannot believe you’re here, Doc. This is incredible! I heard you were dead.”

“Once again, Wyatt, you offend me. Doc Holliday does not die until he is ready to die. Or the day my wife finally loses her damn mind. It just so happens I fell in with the wrong fella and needed a way out. There was word Wyatt Earp was riding north, so I decided to indulge him a visit. Though I do hear he is a shit poker player.”

“And I hear Doc Holliday Is a silver-tongued liar!”

“Silver? No, I am a man of gold, Wyatt Earp.” He leaned over to eye Robert. “Silver is for second class men such as Bobo! Men who try but cannot quite succeed.”

Robert glared at him. “Don’t call me ‘Bobo’, please.”

“I am only funnin’ you. Loosen up, Bobo!”

Robert sighed.

“You’ll need to pardon him,” Wyatt said. “He’s in mourning. An old friend. Lou.”

Doc’s eyes widened wickedly. “What sort of friend, Bobo? You’ve always been a delicate daisy, in my eyes.”

“Don’t call me Bobo,” Robert mumbled.

“Whatever you need, Bobo.” Doc lit his second cigarette of the hour. It was all he did, was smoke. Not a single cough left him. Wyatt wasn’t sure how to ask. A part of him was afraid it’d ruin the mood. Given everything going wrong lately, he needed just one moment to savor. One moment of laughs and old stories and drink. Just one.

And the blessed moment kept, for as long as Wyatt could hold onto it. Unfortunately there was still work to do. It’d have to go mobile.

“What do you say, old friend? One last ride?” Undoubtedly things were about to go smoother, with Doc and his pistols here.

Doc smiled back at him. “Always, Wyatt.” He leaned over again, for Robert. “Maybe ol’ Bobo can join us and lend supportive words. Could you hold our drinks, too?”

Robert glared at him, defensively. When he fixed his glasses Doc laughed. “I am a tougher man now, Henry. I can handle myself.”

“Oh, I shall wait with bated breath for that proof.” Doc laughed harder.

They discussed the day’s goals. The day’s targets. Routine was picking off rabble one by one. Best they could do without gambling everything. The outlaws left were those who pooled everything together and formed gangs. Mostly because of the success of Wyatt and Robert’s efforts. The biggest of these groups was the Sunset Vipers. Going after them, Ambrose declared, was off-limits. Suicide. Even if every single Assassin attacked, they’d be outnumbered. Wasn’t worth it. Slowly chipping away was. And _boy_ did Robert and Wyatt chip away.

Today’s target was the tiny Jeffersons gang, who’d lately been going after people trying to pass by from the big city. The moment travelers neared Purgatory they’d be eaten alive. So the gang intercepted people long before they could hit Purgatory and be robbed by someone else. It wasn’t clear where the men were living. They always left the scene fast, too fast to chase. Wyatt was partnering with a bank from the city to stage a setup. They’d send an empty wagon, it’d get robbed. Wyatt and team would arrive and shoot down or apprehend everyone in sight. And now, with Doc’s surefire aim, success would come easy. Purgatory would be one step closer to liberation, faster than before.

-

Further conversation was had on the way over, so much that Wyatt felt his jaw ready to fall right off from overuse. He and Doc weren’t on good terms when they last parted, but hearing news, fake or not, about a close friend’s death can change perspective quickly.

Mostly they discussed business around Purgatory. The Assassins. Doc mostly laughed the idea of a secret organization off, especially one that chased magical items originating from the same era as Adam and Eve to supposedly fight off otherworldly beings. And the more Robert explained, the more his amusement grew. Not one cough left him.

Wyatt had to say something, he didn’t care about the reaction. Used to be Doc couldn’t get two syllables in without hacking up half a lung. He _needed_ to know. “You sound healthy, Doc. Real healthy.”

Somehow, even on a galloping horse, Doc was able to drink a flask of liquor without spilling a drop. “Wyatt Earp, are you accusin’ me of lyin’? Wyatt Earp, am I comin’ off as the cheatin’ type? Would I ever tell a lie?”

Wyatt laughed. “Yes, you old bastard, you would! You ought to be rotting in a jail cell, truthfully.”

“Oh, I do return that sentiment.” His flask returned to his hip, empty. “I found a doctor, Wyatt, a _real_ doctor. Modern medicine is truly God’s miracle.”

Robert scoffed in disbelief, from where he rode behind them both. “I’ve never heard of tuberculosis  clearing up like that.”

All Doc had was his humor. “Well, then, Robert, I reckon you should read more and hear more with your _sophisticated_ ancient people’s training.”

Doc rubbed at his neck, his left hand donning a ring with a red stone that gleamed in the sun. Wyatt’s eyes were stuck on it. Doc said he’d won it from someone on the way to Purgatory. He claimed it was valuable, yet he had no intention of selling it. When Wyatt pointed this out, he claimed it was more valuable to _him_.

-

Wyatt’s Purgatorian deputies were waiting at the rendezvous point. Everyone met here, went over the plan a final time, and headed out. The empty wagon was sent off. The Jeffersons gang, on schedule, rode up from nowhere and stopped the driver unceremoniously with nothing more than pointed guns and began raiding the vehicle. And, just as unceremoniously, Wyatt signaled his men to ride in and start shooting. It was six on eight, but the disadvantage hardly mattered now that Doc Holliday was here. Where Robert stayed loyally at Wyatt’s side, Doc was quick to rush into the action, like a bull right out of the gate. He took down half the men, on his own, and received the appropriate praise afterwards. Wyatt swore he saw Robert sulking about it.

Robert’s strange mood kept up all day. On the ride back to the temporary jail, fashioned in an old barn, and for the rest of the day’s runs. Wyatt urged Doc to stop calling him “Bobo”. Maybe that’d fix it.

But the sour attitude carried on all the way until night, when they returned to the homestead for the evening. Robert went straight to bed. Unusual. Typically they discussed the next day’s plans. He claimed he was tired, so Wyatt let him be. There were more pressing matters eating up Wyatt’s attention.

Doc Holliday was never a man with a filter. He was a free-spirited, free-mouthed individual. Admittedly, leaning more on the foul side than the kinder. Especially while drunk. And he was drinking plenty since he’d gotten back. And he _certainly_ wasn’t happy when someone pointed out his unruly actions.

He’d called to Robert, “Yes, Bobo, you infant, go take your nap while the adults handle business. Go nap, you lazy fool.”

It was a big house, but the rooms were small. Things traveled. Sounds echoed. People heard.

“He doesn’t like being called ‘Bobo’,” Levi pointed out. He stood tall, puffed out his chest. Acting tough against the drunken Tough Guy. “Don’t call him Bobo.”

Doc’s eyebrow raised. A bull, being challenged. “ _Robert_ is my friend, too. I can joke, can I not?”

Levi was a bull the same. “I didn’t think it was very funny.”

“I thought it was hilarious.”

They were revving their back hooves to charge into one another and brawl it out by the time Ambrose stepped in, far faster than Wyatt could. “Please,” he said, his voice dead as dirt with the hours he’d been pulling, “let’s not fight right now. It’s late. Be gentlemen and let it go. Alright?”

Levi deflated. Doc did not.

“Who is fightin’?” he asked. He happily ignored the look of warning Wyatt shot him. “Two men, talkin’—is that a fight? What strange rules y’all have up north.”

If Ambrose wasn’t so tired, the fight in him would surface. But Wyatt had no doubt the crowd forming behind him had a few willing takers. Particularly Maggie, with the expression she was carrying. It was best to save Doc and perhaps everyone from _that_ bull.

“Doc, why don’t you turn in for the night?” Wyatt stood and practically yanked Doc from his seat. “We work early mornings here. It’s best if you get your rest.”

Doc grumbled all the way upstairs, where Wyatt slept and was willing to share his space with his troublesome friend. He ignored the glares following them along the way. Glares of disbelief. Of trust, already wavering, slow beginning to decline. Respect, with it.

“No more bourbon for you, old friend.”

 

**_[END: SEQUENCE 40, MEMORY 257]_ **

**_-_ **

**_[START: SEQUENCE 40, MEMORY 258]_ **

**_[MEMORY START: SEPTEMBER 15, 1888]_ **

 

“It’s about the big picture, Wyatt!”

“It’s nonsense, is what it is.”

“The big picture!”

Doc had been here all for a day and was already impatient about clearing Purgatory. Maybe because he was used to doing his work quick.

He wanted to go after the Sunset Vipers. Further than trying to pick them off one by one. He wanted to lure them out, in small groups, and deal with them this way. As if they hadn’t already thought of or tried it, themselves.

Yesterday’s big wagon trick was giving him ideas. A whole wagonload of them. Fill an empty wagon with dynamite and set it off on a group of enemies. Ride in on a “stolen” bank coach posing as members and unleash hell once they snuck inside. Wagon, wagon, wagon. There was something with a wagon that would work, and he was so sure of it, even when he was sure of nothing.

Something about watching Doc Holliday fail so much was amusing to Robert. He did a terrible job of hiding it. It was deserved, the way Doc made him so mad yesterday. The way Doc always seemed to make him so mad.

“The longer you wait for them to stand down,” Doc said again, “the stronger they will grow. And thus they will never stand down. You know these types of people, Wyatt! They care _none_ about rights and wrongs.”

Wyatt refused. Ambrose said off-limits, and it was rightful. This was too dangerous and too risky. Two things they couldn’t afford, with or without Doc. “We cannot go after the Sunset Vipers. Not like this. There aren’t that many of us. Picking them off one at a time is best. They’re too smart.”

“Too smart,” Doc repeated with a laugh. “Too smart! Good one. Now let’s return to serious business. How about—”

“One at a time, Doc. That’s final.”

“One at a time.” Doc stopped lounging back in his chair. His eyes went wide with a thought Wyatt wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear. “One at a time. One at a time.”

“We’ve finally broken Doc,” Robert said. Doc started laughing like a crazy person, almost to prove his point.

“One at a time! You are right. Sweet heavens above, you are right, Wyatt! One at a time!”

Maggie passed by their table. She mumbled, “Loon,” and continued her path for the door.

A part of Wyatt was afraid that was true. What was _in_ “modern medicine”, exactly? “Doc, are you—”

Doc whipped his hat off his head, which only seemed to make his wide eyes even wider. “We steal a horse! Make a big show of it, piss off some fellas, lead them away—”

“And arrest them,” Wyatt finished. In the corner of his eye he could see Robert’s happy mood deflate. “That could work. They did steal some of Purgatory’s prized horses right from the stables. No doubt they’ll be unhappy to part with them. I can’t believe we haven’t thought of that before!”

The hat was back on Doc’s head, and he made to leave. “That is because your master planner was Bobo and not someone experienced with these sorts of things.”

“I’ve stolen horses,” Robert defended. “Plenty of horses.”

“I think it is time you checked those spectacles, in that case.”

He left with a giggling mouth. Robert left with stomping boots.

-

Deputies were gathered, from the temporary “jailhouse” they’d taken. Jimmy was here interrogating a few prisoners for information. Wyatt and Robert kept what they were about to do a secret. He’d only try to talk them out of it. They didn’t—at least, Wyatt didn’t—want to be talked about of it, because Doc was right: the longer they waited, the stronger the opposition got. The more they adapted to cheap attacks. The angrier and bolder they’d get. How long was it before the Vipers gave in and stormed the homestead? They couldn’t survive an attack like that. This was something needed to be done.

The Sunset Vipers were holed up in an abandoned fort (Purgatory never used it for war, save for the time the overpopulation of coyotes attacked). It wasn’t fancy, wasn’t especially large, but it was a solid building that provided solid coverage. There were always patrols on the upper walkways daily and nightly. No one went in or out on a frequent basis. The front gates were sealed shut and guarded by watchful eyes. Two of the tallest men Wyatt had ever seen stood their ground as solid statues, loaded rifles clear as day.

Robert insisted on going in, alone. Apparently, alongside professional killing skills, he was a master climber now as well. Convenient, to say the least. And ironic, because nobody ever knew Robert to be anything but clumsy. Doc said so at least four times already. The stress of moment and of the past month must’ve overcame Wyatt, because he found himself needing to shut Doc up.

“I need you to take it easy with the jokes. The attitude, too.”

Doc’s brow shot up. Disbelief that Wyatt would dare say such a thing painted over his face. “What? What attitude?”

A deputy scratched his head, another poked at his revolver, and a third cleared his throat. Nobody looked comfortable overhearing this clearly private chat, never mind one identical to a mother scolding her bratty child. Just plain awkward.

“Just—I need you to stop. Robert is a changed man now, Doc. He’s helped a lot of people here.”

“Well, if he is such a hero, he could stand to be a little less delicate, don’t you agree?” Completely unfazed.

“Doc. I’m not asking you. This applies to everyone, not just Robert.”

“I ride all the way up here for you, I am met with guns in my face and threats of death and you want _me_ to be the kind one? You want me to be kind to killers?”

“We’re killers, too, Doc.”

“Oh, that is _worlds_ apart!”

“It’s the same. Now back off. Try being polite, please.”

All Doc had to give was a lengthy scoff. “Sure, Wyatt, I will be a delicate and dainty little flower as the rest of you. Will that suit your needs?”

Wyatt was glaring. “It’ll suit my needs fine. And for the record—I did not ask for you to come here. That was your choice.”

“You did not ask, but I know you begged to the heavens for it to happen. You and I, we ride for life, Wyatt.”

“Unless you keep that foulness up.”

Wyatt’s words weren’t effective enough, it seemed. “For life, Wyatt.”

-

Everything happened in a blink. Shouting. Gunfire. The gates bursting open. Robert blowing past them.

Wyatt, Doc, and the three deputies jumped up from behind the rocks they hid and fired at the speed of lightning. Robert kept riding and circling around until the riders still trying to chase him were dealt with or plain gave up in favor of their other attackers. He safely rejoined them in time for the dwindling opposition to surrender and run off. Wyatt made to gather the living of those shot, while Doc chased those who ran.

“Doc, quit that, we need to go!”

No time. Any minute now and the rest of the fort would be riding out here, in full. They’d gotten a good eight or nine men already, out of almost twenty total. The numbers were even now. It would have to do. Chip slowly, one at a time.

“You are lettin’ them escape!”

“And you’re letting them get backup!” Wyatt shot back. Doc was hesitant, in his stubborn nature, but that realization seemed to do the trick. He mounted his horse and joined them riding out. He hesitated, but for once his wits actually got the best of him.

The deputies went ahead. Three of them, three surviving gang members. Perfect. Tailing behind them was Robert, Wyatt, Doc. They galloped full speed for the old barn.

“You did a fine job, Robert.” The wind was whistling in his ears, but he needed to point it out. “Did you make it out alright?”

Robert didn’t answer at first. Wyatt sensed he was waiting for one of Doc’s smart words to wedge in, but none came. He was a little dumbstruck. “Uh, yes, I’m fine!” He smiled in his victory. “You should’ve seen their faces when I stole that nag!”

Said animal was galloping with them. Probably grateful to be saved by a man as kind as Robert after so long with men as sour as the Vipers.

“You should hold on to her,” Wyatt said. “At least until Purgatory is resituated.”

Robert paused again, but Doc contributed nothing to the conversation. There was a chance he couldn’t hear them. Robert picked back up with the same grin as before. “I think I might! She was quite fast. Shy, too. But brave.”

That’s where Doc added his comment. A surprisingly kinder comment. “Sounds like she and you have a lot in common, then.”

“Two kindred spirits,” Robert agreed.

Wyatt nodded at Doc, thankfully. This was better. Better than before, better than back in the day. This was on track to becoming a real team now, one capable of doing impossible things. Like, say, take on the Sunset Vipers. Or, further, destroying Clootie and his influence.

-

Back to the homestead was the plan, to draw up further plots to strike down the remaining dozen or so Vipers. Deputies stayed at the jail. On the way over the three were stopped by bandits, but it was nothing near a real bother. It was a classic robbery: the demanding _Hands up!_ and a warning _keep them up,_ greedy hands snatch everything out the saddlebags, take their guns and personal items, and go on their merry way. It was a predictable, classic robbery. So Doc shot everyone down before they could blink, and continued the story he’d been telling before he was interrupted so rudely. They rode at a leisurely pace.

The unexpected hit them at the homestead. Not the angry shouting, but the furious look to Ambrose. Directed at Wyatt. His immediate thought was, _What did Doc do this time?_ but that wasn’t it. This anger wasn’t for anyone else. Jimmy was right there with him, the expression on his face a step away from throwing punches.

“Is there a problem?” Wyatt asked. Quickly, before Doc could and make things worse.

“What did I tell you about the Vipers?” Ambrose asked. The exhaustion in his voice was still as clear as day.

“Was there trouble?” Robert was the first to ask. Ambrose’s head shook.

“Not here,” Jimmy answered for him, his tone sharp and accusing in every form. “At the jail! They was Vipers, and they weren’t happy, oh no.”

“Shit,” Wyatt cursed. He shouldn’t have gone back to the homestead so quick. He should’ve stayed behind in case of follow-up attack. What an amateur move! “What happened? Is anyone hurt?”

Jimmy just laughed at the question and its apparent stupidity. “Everyone’s hurt! Everyone! Every single one!”

Ambrose was sighing. Pinching the bridge of his nose. “I thought we agreed, no Vipers. Worse yet, you didn’t even bother to tell anyone! You just went for it!”

“One of ‘em tailed y’all back.” Jimmy wasn’t finished. “You was gone the time they stormed in. Shot up the whole place—I’m lucky I got away at all—and probably recruited the prisoners we kept!”

Wyatt’s own hand flew over his face. This was on him. He knew it was a stupid idea but he went behind Ambrose’s back anyhow. He knew it was risky, yet he didn’t bother to stick around with the deputies. Assuming all the prisoners joined the Sunset Vipers, the new numbers completely replaced and even outdid those they’d taken out today.

The job wasn’t worth doing.

“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled into his palm. It was a long moment before it fell from over his mouth. Doc, on his left, was quiet. For once. Robert, on his right, was bowing his head shamefully. “What can we do, Fish?”

“You can go to hell, is what you can do!” Jimmy yelled. Ambrose placed a hand to his shoulder. Maggie shoved him down into a seat and had him try to settle his temper.

“I’m not really sure what to do, Wyatt,” Ambrose sighed. “We’re spread thin as it is. I _know_ in my gut things are about to get worse, if worse is even possible. I’m not sure this is fixable!”

Doc stepped forward. Removed his hat.

“There is only one thing to do.”

Ambrose gave another, equally exhausted sigh. “What’s that, Mister Holliday? Recruit more people?”

“Take down the Sunset Vipers.”

Eyes rolled. Ambrose sighed a third time. “We can’t. We don’t have the numbers or the resources, and—”

“People are gettin’ hurt. There is simply no more time for procrastination! They cannot wait around while you pick off the Vipers one by one, day by day! Helpin’ is supposed to be your job, ain’t it? Help people, don’t spend the whole day mopin’ around like a puppy dog! Start with the immediate problems, then go chase your witchcraft!”

Some heads were nodding. Feeling some sense of guilt. Changing their minds.

“The people are not as important as the rings!” Ambrose snapped. The second the words hit the air he froze, the same as the people around him. “Um, I—No, I-I didn’t mean—the rings are—”

“More important than the people, you said so.” Doc let it sit in the air, let the awkwardness the Assassins felt fill the room. “Your leader is allowin’ innocents to die. How about that. For silly little rings.”

Jimmy shot out of his chair, and if Maggie hadn’t tugged him back by the collar, he might’ve attacked Doc. He settled for words. “You dumb bastards, he’s tryin’ to turn you against our Mentor!”

Doc was quick with his words. “Your Mentor is tryin’ to keep you from what’s right.”

Quiet chatter. Ambrose looked to Wyatt, but Wyatt said nothing. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say. He knew Ambrose cared for the people of Purgatory. But he also knew how hard Ambrose had been searching for the rings lately, while he and Robert were the ones actually interested in clearing the town. No resources were diverted to Purgatory by him, just the volunteers who happened to have spare time.

“I am your leader! I make the decisions here!” The stares and shaking heads and quiet whispers were quick to get to Ambrose. The way he’d been running his hand through his curly hair all day made him look crazy, and now it was bleeding into his voice. It only helped Doc pounce again.

“Spoken like a true dictator, _Mentor_.”

Something slammed. Wyatt shot himself forward at the sound of it. He placed himself in front of Doc, a steel wall between him and Ambrose, clear enough for him and everyone to see. And just as clearly, something changed in Ambrose. An understanding hit him. His time as Mentor was up. He lost to Doc Holliday.

-

Ambrose lost to the hot-headed, do-now-think-never fool responsible for their current predicament. The jail wasn’t enough for the Sunset Vipers. They were attacking the homestead, too.

The slamming noise earlier was the front door bursting open, one of the Earp property’s lookouts lucky to miss the scene inside rushing in to inform everyone of Doc Holliday’s mess. The man wasn’t especially talented at hiding the fact he felt stupid and a little guilty. Mostly stupid.

The whole Brotherhood pooled outside. Their patrols were unloading pistols everywhere possible; on the fire bottles soaring through the air as destructive birds; on the horses, stretched across the prairie, descending the hills in a wall of intimidation, a show of power; on riders and their evil smirks.

An Assassin ran upstairs to act as a sniper. The tallest member of the group, Jean, rushed out alongside Doc’s speed to form a silent team. Jean on heavy weapons with power, Doc on pistols with precision. They also, a little too gleefully, dipped into the dynamite stash and had at it.

Wyatt rushed as forward as possible, ducking into the trench separating the road and his property, a bridge overhead if the need for hiding presented itself. Robert was by his side. He made one thing clear, as the troops ahead of them rode in:

“I will stand by your side, Wyatt. No matter what.”

-

Once the Vipers hit the homestead, they were met with a cloud of smoke from all the bombs the Brotherhood had available. Assassins, lead by Jean and his ready fists, ran in with their hidden blades and various other pointed weapons, to make use of the low visibility. It might be the only advantage they’d get this battle. Ambrose and Levi were right to the property, Wyatt and Robert the left. Assassins scattered wherever they were needed. Doc floated to where he believed his skills would be put to the best use. Guns, knives, crossbows, fists all flew left and right, vibrating a chaotic melody throughout the Earp homestead. Outlaws, outsiders, and two former men of the law, caught in the same battle because of the same, twisted man.

Somewhere in the mess Doc ended up with Robert and Wyatt. Just in time to direct them to William “Viper” Calloway as he ran away from the scene. Arm bleeding. He was the boss here, and no doubt the brains. They chased. Doc shot through his thigh, but, a man hardened by a life of crime, Calloway pressed on stubbornly. There was an oversized carriage with his gang’s hideous symbol painted across it. Nobody here was retreating, especially not the man directly responsible for this gang’s existence. (Indirectly was Clootie, but the man didn’t see it fit to join in a childish, suicidal gunfight on Wyatt’s own turf.)

Getting there wasn’t a direct shot. Many moving parts in between. Wyatt and Robert did their best to chase after Doc, who chased after Calloway, who only collected more and more onto the scene and tried to get himself lost in the war zone.

It wasn’t too hard to catch up to Doc, once he’d been grabbed by a much bigger man. His apparent new friend Jean helped before anyone else could, with his hidden blade, tipped his head in a nod, and ran off to take on the next opponent.

“Oh, I like him,” Doc smiled.

They shot and shoved their way through to catch up to Calloway. Ambrose seemed to catch onto the commotion and joined, too. Levi trailed far behind him, but eventually ended up lost in the moving sea of bodies. It was lucky a fourth was joining this trio, because once they’d finally caught up to Calloway they found a half-dozen guys who apparently appeared from thin air backing him. One was already treating his leg.

Nobody moved. The only guns not pointed at somebody was Calloway’s. Tucked in his belt, like no danger could ever cross him. Typical big-ego gang leader.

“It’s time to surrender,” Wyatt tried, but even he knew this one wasn’t in the law’s just favor. Calloway’s responding laughter was as infuriating as getting shoved. Provoking.

“All I gotta do—” Calloway responded— “is delay. Won’t be long before my boys take down yours. We’ve got _you_ outnumbered, lawman. I got all the time in the world.”

Wyatt decided to ignore him. “Lower your weapons.”

More shooting broke out in a wild impatience.

Doc shot the man aiming at himself, and the one aiming at Wyatt. Robert shot both his pistols at the man aiming for Wyatt. The man aiming for Robert changed his mind last minute and shot for Ambrose. Ambrose assumed Robert would handle it and shot at someone else.

Ambrose was shot in the arm, and by the looks of the blood spewing out of it, it was a pretty good hit on the shooter’s part. Robert yelled. Doc took down those who remained. A few fled, and for whatever reason Wyatt felt the need to chase. He did so without warning, without so much as looking to see if Ambrose was still breathing. Doc and Robert followed, and did the same; not a single glance to spare for Mentor Dickenson.

Wyatt was in a blind rage. Something came over him. Something from years ago, something bottled deep inside he could never forget. Virgil, shot through the arm. Painting redder and redder with every wasted second. Morgan, shot through the back. Killed, in cold blood. He failed Morgan. He failed Virgil. He could not fail anyone ever again.

Someone called Wyatt for help as he darted by. It sounded like Jean. Begging, for help. Wyatt ignored him and kept running. Those Vipers were getting away. He couldn’t let them get away.

-

The chase ended on horseback. But he got them. All three of them, as well as any and all Vipers who tried fleeing the premises. Robert was on his left, Doc his right. Just like the old days. In the hills they handled any and all stragglers like the perfect trio they once were. No arrests today, because there was no jail left, and no deputies to tend it.

When the Vipers were broken and bloody, a deafening silence replaced the song of war. This was the part Wyatt hated about war: the aftermath. Counting the casualties.

Jean was dead, where he’d been begging Wyatt to help and where Wyatt ignored him to chase more important things. A part of him thought Doc was going to stop and help, but now he was realizing that was just stupid. Doc wouldn’t leave his side for anyone. Maggie sat next to the group’s only other woman, a jacket strung over her body. Jimmy was next to her, clutching his gut. Jarvis’s walking was worse than before. Ambrose’s arm was bleeding profusely, where Wyatt had left him, too. To chase off the insecure ghosts of his past.

Meanwhile Clootie was weaponizing his.

The second Levi saw Wyatt, Robert, and Doc walking back in, he charged right for them. His Brotherhood shadowing him.

“You cannot possibly be furious with us,” Doc started, reading their faces clear as day. “We got the job done. The Sunset Vipers are no more! Purgatory is practically free again!”

He was ignored, not unlike a babbling chimp.

“Why couldn’t you listen, Wyatt Earp?” Levi, with his eyes drowning. “He asked you to leave this alone, but you pushed and pushed, and now we’re worse off! Two people are dead! Fish is going to die, too!”

Wyatt’s heart didn’t sink. It plunged. “Levi—”

“Why couldn’t you leave it alone, Wyatt!”

“What is wrong with you people?” Robert piped up. Doc grabbed his shoulder but he shoved him off. “We took down the Sunset Vipers! The men who have been terrorizing anything that lives or breathes anywhere near Purgatory! Wyatt and I, we’ve taken down the Jeffersons gang, the Spotted Lizards, Nickin’ Nate Fields, Jeffry Annabelle, Johnny Ace—the list goes on! You should be _thanking_ Wyatt! All he’s been doing is cleaning up Purgatory, while you chased after a lost cause!”

He shoved off Wyatt’s hand when he tried to calm him.

“Two dead, Robert! Was that worth it?” Levi shot back. He was stepping forward, farther away from the crowd behind him. Robert did the same. This was another war. “Lou, too? Was Lou worth it?”

“Wyatt was the only person who stood up for Lou. Again, you all turned him down. Even I did!”

Wyatt tried to step in, but he was silenced the second a sound left his lips. Robert continued on.

“While you were chasing dead ends, Wyatt was helping. He’s put his life on hold for this, and you dare—”

“We’re all sacrificing our lives. Need I remind you who we’ve lost?”

Nobody knew what to do. Stop, contribute, nothing. Even Doc stared like a quiet, paralyzed fool as Robert and Levi went at it.

“Wyatt was—”

“Whose side are you on, Robert? Look Jenny and Jean in the eye and tell them they deserved to die for Wyatt Earp’s ego!”

“I want what’s best for Purgatory,” Robert insisted. His eyes darted as far away from Jenny and Jean’s fresh corpses as possible.

“You cannot do that while you’re wearing two uniforms.”

“What does that mean?”

Nothing good. Wyatt forced himself into the conversation. “Gentlemen—”

He was ignored.

“You act like an Assassin, Robert, but you dress like a deputy. Where are your robes? Who has your allegiance?”

“I don’t—”

“Choose, Robert! The Brotherhood, or Wyatt Earp and his rogue. The people who picked you up and made you a real man, showed you a real family, or the friend-turned-stranger you had to _beg_ to come out here, and his snake friend who twists words and treats you like dirt!”

Robert took no time to consider. “I ride with Wyatt. Always.”

Then he walked, and Wyatt stared like a fresh corpse, for the empty homestead and slammed the front door. He left his hidden blade behind.

No one stopped him. They gathered their things and their dead and they left. Wyatt watched in the cold wind, feeling a fool.

 

_**[END: SEQUENCE 40, MEMORY 258]** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Doc’s dialogue is so much fun, dude
> 
> Sorry this chapter took so long! Had to rewrite a bunch of times, then there was some family visit business goin' on, all that. Just all around bad luck getting eighteen out here.
> 
> I know Doc’s kind of a douche right now but things will change, I promise you. I got too much anxiety to not let me plan ahead, I’ll tell ya...
> 
> Back to modern day next, and I'll say it’s pretty darn soft, and partially takes place on Halloween AKA the Greatest Freakin’ Holiday Ever what other holiday would produce the hit of a lifetime, Monster Mash? I mean, lord above--
> 
> Only ten chapters left. I salute you wonderful souls for sticking around this crazy train. You the real MVPs. Anyway, #FightForWynonna, Dom P-C is my hero, and I'll see you 'round next time. :)


	19. Secrets, Hidden

_October 31, 2016_

Freddy Krueger mask. Old hockey gear. Stolen stetson. Temporary hair dye. _It’s my first Halloween, guys!_

The team needed a morale boost, this was no secret. Jeremy’s head was stuck on the ground, Waverly wasn’t sleeping, Nicole spent her time staring at walls. Everyone was quiet, the exception of frustrated outbursts when rescue planning turned into yet another dead end, like the universe was violently against the concept of letting Wynonna Earp walk free. They needed just one moment, away from all this. One, lasting moment of red-hatted men and green pipes. What better occasion than Nicole’s first ever Halloween celebration?

Gus seemed to agree. The second she heard Nicole proposing they do quite literally _anything_ other than sit around the house all day she fronted them a hundred dollars. Gus Gibson, the woman who didn’t believe in allowances and didn’t tip the poor pizza boy.

Waverly took precautionary measures and dyed Nicole’s telltale red hair black with the same temporary spray sports fans used at games. Also the same spray Champ used to buy in bulk. Then dressed Nicole up in Curtis’s old hockey gear. Waverly threw on a coat much too large and Nicole’s stolen stetson to pose as a “gunslinger”. Jeremy tossed on the funny smelling Freddy Krueger mask he found in Wynonna’s room. The things he found in that place—she very well could’ve been a serial killer back in the day.

Nicole took them to Purgatory’s cinema (or rather, suggested it, seeing as she’d only been to town about two times now). Prices were half off Halloween nights, intended to keep teens from trashing the town. It was unofficially known as the “Wynonna Earp Initiative”. The intention was to finally let Jeremy see Doctor Strange.

He cheered and clapped like it was a rock concert.

(Nicole and Waverly were somewhat lost, but the dumb smile on Jeremy’s face made it for them.)

Then they walked the town. Muffled nerd speak emitted from the Freddy Krueger mask, and on a normal day it might’ve been something stopped, but right now, with everything they’d been through, nerd speak was the greatest sound in the world. There was something about a peaceful walk that made every detail of this journey worth it. The feeling of being together, alive, in no hurry to rush off to some new life-or-death emergency outweighed every dark turn and cold realization that crossed their paths.

Nicole and Waverly held each other close in their slow strides. Nicole was stabbed, Waverly was kidnapped—they refused to part again. Refused to acknowledge the fact either could’ve been lost forever. The only thing that mattered was here, now. Halloween night. Children laughing. Lawns and houses decorated. Silly masks and silly makeup. A friend, pouring his heart out about his favorite hero. Two people certainly more than friends, soaking it all in.

Back at home things were different. The whole house’s energy shifted. Conversation filled the space, simple and free and funny and not once referencing the crushing, impossible work left to be done. Waverly helped her aunt pass out candy to the kids who made the hike all the way out to the ranch. Old Halloween stories were told, some scary and some outright embarrassing. Such as the time Curtis and Wynonna tried to pull a prank on Gus and things ended with Curtis accidentally getting a black eye. The song “Monster Mash” played far too many times, but no one complained.

When things slowed down for the evening, Gus pulled Nicole aside and thanked her.

“I haven’t seen my Waverly this happy in years.”

Nicole admitted _she_ hadn’t been this in years.

-

It wasn’t long after Nicole’s hair was returned to its natural red glory when she spoke with Waverly again for the night. She wasn’t expecting to. Not yet. Wasn’t ready to.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Waverly paused in the doorway. She’d made a habit of stopping by every night and _accidentally_ falling asleep next to Nicole. Purely because the books she chose to read were boring and for absolutely no other reason, nope. “And you’re—What’re you doing, exactly?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise!” Despite the clear disappointment in Nicole’s voice, she didn’t stop what she was doing, or look up.

Waverly entered the room, fully. The bookshelf in the corner and the desk in its immediate reach had some sort of elaborate blanket design. Draped completely over the desk and held down with heavy books on the shelf. Stretched over the ground below like a canopy. Pillows were missing from the bed, as well as the quilt.

“You know Calamity Jane’s just gonna tear all this down,” Waverly joked. “That is, if she ever leaves Gus alone. What is it with cats and old ladies?”

“Old ladies always have food,” Nicole answered. She looked at Waverly, finally. “Seriously, I think I’m gaining weight.” Mostly in reference to the fact no one was hungry when they came back but Gus made them eat dinner anyhow, in that aggressive concern she seemed to have for them.

Nicole joined Waverly’s side to observe her creation, making a presenting gesture with her good arm. She laughed at the adorably lost expression Waverly tossed in response.

“I know you haven’t been able to sleep lately,” Nicole said. “You said your Uncle Curtis built you a fort after the attack, and it helped. So I figured . . .”

She gestured again. Waverly just stared.

“I didn’t overstep, did I? I overstepped. I’ll take it—”

“No! No.” Waverly grabbed her arm to stop her. Tugging, hard, and not letting go. “You built me a fort.” She smiled, and the sight immediately made Nicole’s worries deflate.

“I built you a fort,” she said, sounding a little proud.

Waverly walked closer and examined the structure with a full heart. The quilt was strewn across the floor for sleeping on, a few blankets from the closet waiting for use on top. Nicole couldn’t bend all the way to fix it perfectly in place, but the way it was bunched up imperfectly was just right to Waverly. Because it meant, even with a painful injury, Nicole _tried._ Nobody ever _tried_ like this before.

The pillows were fixed in a border, from the head to the sides. The whole of it was under the wide desk, secluded from the outside world with the triangular canopy held in place with the aid of the desk top, the bookshelf, and the chair on the right.

Waverly actually felt like she was going to cry.

“I love it,” she whispered.

“Well go on, then,” Nicole said.

Waverly outstretched an inviting hand. Her eyes asking, _Not without you._ Who was Nicole to decline such a request?

There needed to be some backtracking, like unfastening and lifting the side attached to the chair, but Waverly managed to wrangle Nicole down without the shoulder wound being its bratty self. They slept here, together, side by side, all through the night and all through the morning. They spent half the afternoon like teenagers, talking about nothing and listening to music.

Right now, there were no Templars. No kidnapped sister. No fugitive life. No back issues or broken fingers. Just warmth and a perfect fort.

-

November 1, 2016

Alone again. Gus was at Shorty’s. Jeremy, doing double agent work with Dolls. Nicole, “doing the world a favor” as she said, and hopping in the shower after spending hours trying to find a way to workout and keep in shape. She also tried to hide the fact she was embarrassed she could barely lift weights that were supposed to be stupidly light and could never in a million years pose a challenge to lift to an adult human.

Waverly walked the house, Calamity Jane in tow. Playing the part of family history tour guide, Waverly the expert and Jane the ever curious tourist.

They stopped before a large portrait of the Gibson family. Waverly’s grandparents, Mason and Cassandra, who both passed long before she was born. She had only stories about them, and the pictures; Grandpa Mason with a voice so loud the local library would never know peace again; Grandma Cassandra and her collection of physical disabilities that never could manage to slow her down. There was Mama and Gus, the only two in the group not smiling. Curtis next to them, a wide grin on his goofy face and bright pink shirt stealing all the attention. Couple close locals who were practically family. A man at Mama’s side. Not Ward.

“Dad.”

Waverly’s finger caressed the thin glass of the frame, some dust moving aside with it. The man in the photo presented a barely-visible smile. He was serious but somehow warm. Dressed in clothes that wouldn’t stand out: dark colors, long sleeve, jeans, short trimmed hair. Normal looking guy.

Michelle’s hand wrapped around his. She wasn’t smiling, but Waverly saw the look in her eyes. Happiness. Happy was not how she remembered her mother. She remembered her with the look she always saw in herself; longing. Longing for happiness with the right person.

“Hey, you. What’re you up to?”

Nicole. Waverly’s head turned to face her, but her eyes were stuck on the picture.

“Hey.” Still not looking. Her peripherals caught Nicole stepping in closer. To look at the portrait, as well.

“Your dad?”

Waverly nodded.

“You have his smile. Same laugh lines and everything.”

Waverly examined closer. She felt a flood of sadness, because it was true.

“You should read it.” She finally caught Waverly’s full attention. “The file.”

“How do you know I haven’t read it?”

Nicole grinned, smug. “Because we haven’t had an in-depth discussion about it yet.”

Waverly crossed her arms. “Maybe you are a Slytherin, after all.”

“I happen to enjoy our talks about life and morals.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” Nicole pulled herself back to a serious tone. “Really, though, you should. Seems like a good time, while we’re safe here. And maybe Gus can help you out with getting to know him. But if you don’t want to yet,” Nicole motioned to the bedroom, “you can explain that weird mushroom game you and Jeremy were playing.”

“Hey, don’t make fun! It’s a classic. Timeless. Iconic! Kind of a big deal.”

“I don’t see how mushrooms make people grow.”

“I’m going to read the stupid file. Before I stab you again.”

“Waverly Earp, you wouldn’t dare!”

Waverly was headed down the hall already, but stopped to turn back on Nicole. “I’d watch my back if I were you, Haught.”

She slipped out the hall and descended the stairs. Calamity Jane filled her presence, apparently only to reaffirm the threat by staring right into Nicole’s eyes.

“Don’t you threaten me, little miss.”

Calamity Jane meowed in response. _Watch your back, human._

-

“Eye of the Tiger” played on a loop in her head. Curtis’s punching bag rested in the corner, untouched for months now. An old weight set rested with it.

It wasn’t a bad cover, leaving heavy workout equipment in an old barn to hide a secret underground hideout. The first time Waverly discovered her Uncle Curtis’s top secret Assassins Batcave was by mistake. The punching bag fell over and swept aside some hay beneath it. Secret entrance revealed itself. It served as an office of sorts for Curtis in his search to rescue Willa, and now it held the rings in Waverly’s search for Wynonna. History, repeating itself.

She didn’t read her father’s file right off. For now it sat in her lap, where she leaned against a wall. She dreaded reading it. She thought she was ready, thought this was a good idea and _damn_ did she want to know everything and _Why not!_ but _lord_ how she _dreaded it._ Too many things were changing already. If she found out her father was some sort of supernatural being with wings, she wasn’t sure she could take it.

She thought of Curtis. He joined the Assassins to look for Willa. Curtis took no BS from no one. She would’ve paid money to see him work with Ewan’s selfish stubbornness. Did he try to spring Willa on the day of the attack? No. No, she doubted that. Rosita and Nicole were the only ones who walked away from that massacre. Just Nicole, now. Ewan probably went ahead without him. Then Curtis found out, left a colorful message or did something colorful, and the Templars tracked it directly to him. At least they had the decency to let Gus be.

Did Curtis die thinking he failed Willa?

“You’ve helped more than you know, Uncle Curtis.”

Somehow she knew he could hear her. His ghost, looking down on her, maybe. Waverly looked down at the folder too, then back up to the heavens.

“Wish me luck, Curtis.”

-

Something strange was going on. A ringing, a whisper of voices. Saying nothing. Saying something. Saying everything.

Waverly finished the letter her father wrote, and his personal, official prison file. She knew nothing. Everything. But she couldn’t process it, the mountain of information, the realization she was related to Robert Svane and old Purgatory’s notable Assassin, Julian. The voices were loud.

The file fell from her lap when she stood. The voices called too loud for her to hear anything else. Including the questions in her own mind.

She marched for the far corner of this secret underground level of an otherwise ordinary ranch barn, for the empty bourbon bottle hiding behind a desk. The rings, hidden inside. She’d heard this call before, many times before, but never this strong. Because it realized it, too, for certain now. It wasn’t a guess anymore. She read the truth to the voices, in her own shock, and the voices listened.

She shook the empty bottle until its captive was freed. Silver band. Black stone, sitting on its throne. Without thinking, Waverly placed the ring on a finger of her left hand. Succumbing to its wishes. Naturally. Without thinking.

She fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waverly two for two leading the end of chapter suspense allrriiigghhtttttt!!!!
> 
> 20 is short as well so I hope to get two chapters up this week, but the thing is I’m suuuper unsatisfied with it so we’ll see how that goes.
> 
> Don't be like Gus. Tip your local pizza boy.


	20. A Lesson in History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to clarify: yes, this entire chapter is from the point of view of the ring Waverly put on last chapter. POV ring. It makes sense, trust me

It was silent. Dark. Lonely. For decades, centuries, millennia, before the box was opened again. The face looking down was cautious. The room behind him glowed with ancient glyphs, carved into forgotten stone surrounding this box’s pedestal in the center of the room. The item he dug and fought and clawed for, he and his brethren, awaited him in the simple wooden box. He opened it slowly.  If there was awe in him, he didn’t show it, as he stared and examined his prize. His face glistened with sweat, where dirt wasn’t plastered. Blood stained his clothes.

“This is it. Tell Grand Master we’ve found it. Quickly!”

The box shut. The darkness returned.

There was no silence, no loneliness, but yelling. Booming. One last gurgle of life before it faded.

“Watch my back, old man,” after a silence fell, and the chaos settled.

“I’m quite young for my age, I’ll have you know.”

The box opened. The person, another, new man, was hooded. He pulled it back and revealed his own sweaty face, as well as a wide smile. Awe in his eyes. He stared for a while before shutting the box again.

“This is it, Juan Carlo.” He laughed joyously. “This is the final Piece of Eden in Purgatory.”

“The king of the set,” Juan Carlo said. The box was passed, elsewhere. “They have the weaker ones. It’s said this one can do everything the others can, and more.”

“And what is ‘more’, exactly?”

“I don’t know, son.” The box shook slightly before it was opened again. An older man smiled down into it. “Goodness, it even has the rock to prove it.”

He separated the box and replaced the contents with a different ring. A fake ring absent of power.

“Why don’t you hold onto this, Julian? Keep it on you. There’s nowhere safe to hide it just now.”

After so long, alone, Julian’s touch was refreshing. He was a kind man, to his core. Sad, also. He had to leave people behind. People he loved. He missed them, but he needed to stay here to protect them. He recalled them; a wife and a child.

Julian was worthy.

“I’m swapping the real one for a fake. It should buy us some time. Here. Bury this for me, will you?”

Julian did as he was told. More people arrived behind him and took scattered bodies away. A man, Ambrose, helped Julian. Julian said he was a nice kid.

-

Julian was a good man. When he discovered the ring’s power, he used it for good. He healed Ambrose when he broke his arm. He saved Dave’s life when he was shot. He healed dozens of sick people in town. He asked for nothing in return, and refused what riches he was offered.

He spoke kindly to all, and listened deeply to all. He helped those in need of help, pleasant or unpleasant. He spared his enemies, and condemned the vile who deserved it. His few free minutes in the day were spent with his kin, Robert. Robert was a shy man. Julian helped his confidence. Julian encouraged him.

Many times he was told to relinquish his power, but he kept it. Not for greed. For the opposite; selflessness.

-

An emergency happened. Julian helped Juan Carlo rally their brethren. Together they rode into town, to meet foul-mouthed devils. Both sides stood on the street, facing one another. Words were exchanged. Julian’s were of compromise. Theirs were of threats. A gunfight broke out.

Julian chased two identical young men, younger than any of their group. He finally caught up to them behind the town jailhouse. Juan Carlo followed along the chase.

The men were stopped. They were scared. So Julian put his only gun down. He begged Juan Carlo to do the same.

“You boys are young,” Julian said. “You’re mixed up in things you don’t understand. Let us help you.”

The young men didn’t believe him. They stamped and shouted and called him evil, but he didn’t flinch. He had no interest in gunning them down. His own son was their age.

But he had no choice. They both shot for him, and Juan Carlo shot them down in retaliation. He rushed to help Julian. One of the boys was getting up. Julian pushed through his shoulder and gut wound and snatched his gun. The boy fell.

“I’m so sorry, kid,” he coughed. Juan Carlo rushed to help him.

“Come on, we need to—”

A third man, older like Juan Carlo, rushed over and struck him in the back with a knife. He stole the gun from Juan Carlo’s belt and threw it away before knocking him unconscious. Julian yelled his friend’s name, but couldn’t do much else to help. The gun in his hand was kicked.

The look of this man frightened Julian. He felt so helpless. So small. A part of him knew he was staring at his ending, and he found himself grateful for what he and Juan Carlo did before the siege: they sent Robert out of town to retrieve a friend’s help. This meant Robert was safe, and in Julian’s stead, someone would be here to look over Purgatory with Juan Carlo.

This man towered over him. He kicked Julian in his bleeding stomach, twice, before pointing his own gun at him.

“Those were my children, you savage!”

Julian tried to speak, but he was kicked again.

“Savage! Devil! You killed my sons! My flesh and blood!”

Julian coughed. The man pulled the trigger before Julian could beg for mercy. Then he stole the power resting on his finger and ran. Ambrose found and chased him, but the evil man was too fast.

-

The new man’s name was unclear. Changing, with every bad deed he committed. Today, he was Clootie. The next day he was Sheriff Clootie.

Sheriff Clootie was a foul man. He was demanding and impatient. He was irresponsible. He killed for money. He killed for fun. He helped no one, unless they had something to offer. He believed the world owed him, for being so cruel to him. Owed him riches and comfort and luxury. And now, he believed the town and its people owed him, most of all.

He wrote to friends and people he was indebted to, old and new, and invited them to Purgatory. This town was free no longer, he declared. This town was his, and he planned to destroy everything lively within it the same way it destroyed his children. Because now, he had the power.

A rich jeweler stood up to him, in front of the whole town. He condemned Clootie’s actions and called him evil. In front of everyone, Clootie burned his face off with his new abilities. The townsfolk screamed, and some threatened him.

He declared, “Those who defy me will be destroyed!”

There were more public burnings. Some were citizens, but most were the men who wronged him in the past. He set new, unfair town laws. His friends were allowed to make their own chaos. Juan Carlo tried to stop him, but he, too, fell.

He used his abilities to retrieve what he loved most. He dug up two fresh graves. Julian’s killers; his sons. His allies, three women pledged to him, stood by his side, with new abilities of their own. The one closest to Clootie bawled when the young men rose. They were vile men. The power cursed them in this new life, for their actions in the old. Misshapen faces, and the uncontrollable powers they craved, to do nothing but bear them down. Clootie damned them. His wife Constance cared for them. The love Clootie felt for his sons morphed into disgust. Such was the curse.

He destroyed everything until his powers failed him. Even the power feared him and cowered. One of his friends told him Wyatt Earp was riding into town. He fled. He had no more power, but he was sure, with time, he would unlock it again. He wasn’t ready to lose yet.

-

Constance betrayed him. She stole his powers from right underneath him, and rode off for a far away place. She was a clouded person. She was good for long, then evil for long. Her actions used to be self-centered. Then they were for her husband. Then and now they were for her children, her children who were once again slain, by Wyatt Earp. She was evil, but sad. Sad like Julian. But not evil like Clootie. Evil in her own right. Evil because she was sad.

The power made her horse run, without the need to stop even for food or drink, at full speed. She rode to Colorado and dug up a grave. She carried the corpse halfway back to Purgatory before she was found and stopped by the other two women. The faceless women, her sister-wives. She wanted to do evil things to them, but she didn’t. Not until they intervened. Not until they asked about the corpse and questioned her. She ignored them and revived the dead man. She told him, not asked him, to do her a favor. She wanted to use him destroy Wyatt Earp, no different from Clootie. With such an intention, her powers began to fade. When her sister-wives tried to send the man to the grave again, in their distrust, she killed them. Her powers faded. She didn’t care, not as much as her husband.

She willingly relinquished the power her Clootie craved, stuck her own red-stoned trinket on the once-dead man’s finger, and stole the remaining two off her sister-wives. She held the whole set, in her hands, but she did not succumb to greed. She stole the trinkets from her sister-wives and performed an impossible feat. She bonded so closely so quickly with the rings her sister-wives held she was able to completely absorb its power. As if they were meant to be. The rings taught her, as if it were their biggest wish in the universe.

Constance dumped the man on the outskirts of Purgatory with a horse, to do her bidding. The red ring was lined with healing abilities that warded off his disease, the one that followed him even after undeath. She left Clootie the remaining three trinkets and planned, simply, to watch his feud with Wyatt Earp play out. Before she left she taught her husband the lessons her new rings taught her: how to seize power, even when the power refused to be exploited for evil.

-

Clootie was alone now, but he didn’t care. He was more confident than before, now that he obtained the power his greed craved. It would be his ultimate downfall.

One moment Wyatt was the fool, and the next moment Wyatt was the wiser. Clootie died, alone, his power still deeming him unworthy despite his prying, for a century afterwards. Constance approached his corpse and called him a fool. The power did not raise or protect him; he was not worthy.

He was dark, alone, and cold for long. No one visited him. No one left him flowers. It wasn’t before a century when Constance dug him up again. She was the same, but for her sadness. The evil overshadowed it.

She moved Clootie to a familiar, abandoned mine in a secluded corner of Purgatory. The power wouldn’t surrender itself to her. She was evil, and it feared her as it did the dead man it clung to and refused to move. She let it be, for now. She was in a rush. She left an illusion spell, with little effort, and left for good.

-

Time passed but now it wasn’t a century. It was decades. The defensive spell was activated. There was gunshots and shouting. Rustling and rough play.

Someone here was familiar. Their blood was familiar.

Someone here was of Julian. It wasn’t the first feeling. There were two of them in Purgatory, but never this close. Neither ever heeded the call.

This time one did.

A woman. She approached and opened Clootie’s coffin. She stared at the source of his power. She did not put it on, for she feared the evil it’d done under Clootie’s reign, radiating off it like a scent. She picked it up, and it slipped off Clootie’s finger with buttered ease. The spell Constance tied to it disappeared.

She was deeply compassionate and kind. Like her blood, Julian, she was sad inside. She was missing family, too. She didn’t give the power a second thought, but ran to check on her allies. She allowed the power to be buried once more.

The woman was Waverly Earp, and she was worthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vision quests, am I right?
> 
> Next chapter is a modern day, where Waverly will unpack all of… this. Should be up next week. Gettin' back on that constant schedule, heyo.


	21. Secrets, Revealed

_November 2, 2016_

Waverly woke.

“What the hell?”

The words tumbled from her lips and her head spun as she pushed herself to sit up. She used both her hands—and the broken fingers of her right didn’t sting. Curious.

“Hey, easy.” Nicole, helping her up. Concern, plastered all over her face. “You had us all worried there.”

Waverly forced the world into focus with squinting eyes. She wasn’t in the barn, but in the house. Laying on her old bed, the entire team staring down at her.

“What happened?” She steadied herself against the headboard. Right hand still feeling none of the pain she’d learned to expect. But she was too distracted to focus on that just now.

“You’ve been out since yesterday. We were about to take the risk and rush you to a hospital,” Dolls answered. Waverly was now realizing the sun was up, fully, not setting. “Haught went to check on you.”

“And found you on the ground,” Nicole finished, “with that ugly thing on your finger.”

Waverly blinked a few times. Still waking up. “I don’t know why I put the stupid thing on in the fir—”

Oh no.

The damned thing was stuck. She pulled again, and nothing. A third time, nothing. The fourth try was interrupted by Nicole, grabbing her hand to stop her.

“Already tried all that. Won’t come off.”

“Why did you even put it on?” Dolls asked. He sounded a little annoyed, and maybe it was justified. Putting on a magical ring whispering crazy things was treasure hunter movie no-no number one. Because, as stated in number two, it brought on some sort of curse or condition.

But Waverly was too busy examining her right hand to answer that right now. No matter how she moved her fingers, there was no protesting sting. And given what she’d just seen . . .

She took off the homemade splints without a word, her teammates watching in a curious confusion. She bent all five fingers. Clenched her fist, wiggled them all together. Felt good as new.

“It healed me.” Waverly was looking right at Nicole.

Dolls caught on. “Try it.”

They had Jeremy and his smaller injuries step up first, while Dolls got the med kit and removed the sutures in Nicole’s shoulder.

It worked.

Granted, Waverly kept her hand held awkwardly against Jeremy’s face for several long minutes, but it worked. The remaining swelling of his gums went down, and his bruises and black eye completely faded away. He looked the way he looked before things went wrong; normal.

She immediately went to Nicole next. The deep wound, re-opened, healed right before everyone’s eyes. All her other cuts, too, and her limp left arm was no different from her healthy right, as if nothing happened. _As if nothing happened._ Xavier Dolls actually _laughed_ with joy.

“This is a miracle!” he said. “Do you have any idea how many people we’ll help with this thing? The diseases we’ll cure?”

Funny thing, thinking he was their enemy once.

With the experiments done on Dolls, his body allowed for enhanced healing; the bullet graze he received from Wynonna at the mine already cleared up. The residual poison from his old medication, already, was kicked out of his system. The new serum kept him and helped him stay healthy, unlike the old, which only applied to his nonhuman half and worked against the human half. In other words: the entire team was healthier than ever. They were ready for anything.

They were ready to free Wynonna and take down Black Badge.

-

“You look ridiculous.”

“Hey, not all of us can afford fancy jewelry.”

Waverly explained what the ring showed her. How deeply it feared Clootie, and how much more it feared his wife and the things she was capable of. How Constance revived Doc Holliday to weaponize against Wyatt Earp. How Constance somehow absorbed the power of the mind trick rings, now never needing a channel for her given power, and killed the Widows. The possibility she was still running around, very much alive. How Waverly was a direct descendant of Robert and Julian. Constance was an issue to table for now. They discussed what else the ring might be able to do. Healing, obviously. Reviving, as proven by the dead Clootie twins. And some kind of fire power; someone’s face was melted off by Clootie.

“Fire and healing don’t go together,” Dolls had said. He knew from experience. But Jeremy strongly disagreed. Claimed fire is life, but no one really knew how that was. The sun, maybe, but that was different, wasn’t it? It was a star in space.

He let off a long sigh, one loaded with disappointment in his peers. “None of you have seen _Avatar?”_

To which Waverly replied, “The blue people or the kids show?”

And he sighed again, almost in defeat. “Kids show.”

Nicole had questions about the “blue people” comment. Nothing Dolls said was helpful, so she quit.

Jeremy proceeded to explain the “Sun Warriors” episode of _Avatar: the Last Airbender._ Namely the concept the characters in the episode learned: fire gives life, as the sun does. It is not destruction, but healing. Warmth. Life. Rebirth and cleansing, if need be. The concept of weaponizing fire is a product of man, not fire itself. So of course it was included in the ring’s arrangement of powers.

A second fire-wielder and magical medic on the team wouldn’t hurt. Dolls sent Waverly and Nicole outside to test the ring’s abilities and headed back to work. Jeremy, too.

Which brought them here, now, Nicole once again in the full set of Curtis’s hockey gear, a brave and willing target, ready to take on whatever sorcerer’s fireballs Waverly’s new ring was about to unleash onto the earth.

They went at it a while, but ultimately came up with nothing. Not even a tiny puff of smoke. If Waverly wasn’t so determined to scorch all of Black Badge for her sister’s sake, she would’ve walked away happy with just the healing powers. She didn’t _want_ to do the full Azula, but if she had to . . .

“Stupid ring,” Waverly declared. “Stupid, ugly, bulky ring. Why couldn’t you be a princess cut? Why couldn’t you look pretty, for all the trouble you’ve caused?”

Nicole took off her mask and sat in the grass. White with snow but still the apparent perfect place for her cat to nap. “Poor ring’s trying its best. Can’t help if it it’s a little ugly.”

“That’s what Mama used to say about Curtis.”

Nicole waved a gloved hand at Calamity Jane to try to remove her from their hazardous training zone. Jane only swatted her back, claw trying to latch onto the gear. She was the type of cat who _lived_ in the danger zone, Nicole guessed.

“Maybe it’s happy for healing, angry for fire?” Waverly guessed, and Nicole tossed her a look.

“You sure you want to make yourself mad? You’re kind of scary when you’re mad. Er, that’s what Jane thinks, anyway.”

The cat looked at her with a tilted head, as if to disagree.

Waverly put her hands on her hips. “Yeah, I’m sure.” She straightened herself up. Raised her left hand. “Here goes nothing!”

She thrust her fist forward, no different than a punch. That’s all that happened, was a dramatic punch. Nicole stifled a laugh. Waverly glared at her again.

“Shut it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Waverly tried a different approach. And found it was easier to perform than she thought. Turns out getting angry was easy. Turns out she had a lot to be angry about.

She fell on the easiest, most open of her wounds: her daddy issues. Ward, the drunken, abusive fool who got to know her. Charlie, she now knew him, the kind caring one desperate to see his daughter but ultimately unable. Because chances were he’d end up like the Haughts down in Texas. According to what he wrote, Ewan reminded him of this often; family was dangerous.

Charlie could’ve been her father. Charlie would’ve remembered her birthday. Cared about her report cards and the fact she was too smart even for advanced classes. The fact she graduated high school at sixteen. Charlie wouldn’t have given her dirty looks, aware and unhappy of her bloodline. Mumbling she was a mistake of a child. Mumbling it’d be best if she simply didn’t exist. Charlie would’ve given a shit. Tucked her in for bedtime stories with funny voices. Threatened her prom date and half the town. _Don’t you hurt her._ He would’ve kicked Champ to the curb and would’ve chased him off as he cheated and cheated, again and again, because maybe it was her commonplace being the product of an affair.

Charlie knew absolutely nothing about her, yet he promised, _I love you, Waverly._ Because she was his daughter, and he was her father. But the universe thought it’d be funnier to curse her with Ward. Ward Earp, the town sheriff with a drinking problem and severe inability to keep his temper in check.

It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t she have her father?

Waverly’s left hand punched the air again. As she wished, the desired outcome saw fit to present itself. The black ring glowed a blinding red and emitted an actual _fireball._ No bigger than the size of her fist, but good lord, _it was a fireball._

Despite its smaller size, it managed to strike and knock over Nicole where she stood in the hockey gear. Calamity Jane finally left the scene in a flash as her owner toppled backwards. Every thought in Waverly’s mind dissolved, as she rushed over in a blind terror.

“Nicole, are you okay?” She’d just gotten healed and already another incident was happening. What luck.

Waverly ripped off the helmet and stared down where Nicole lay, sprawled across the ground like a hockeyed-up rug.

It was mumbled, but Waverly could hear it: “I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

She let her shoulders drop, and Nicole laughed like they were casually roughhousing like children on the playground and not like they were using magical items to shoot _fireballs_ at each other. Her chest plate was scorched black. Waverly wanted to hit it again.

“Keep quoting those stupid Vines and see where it’ll get you!”

Nicole sat up and looked right at Waverly, noting the way her narrowed eyes glared. The only solution was to grin, almost wickedly, “Grumpy Waverly isn’t so scary anymore; she’s kind of cute. Angry Waverly has fireballs.”

Waverly didn’t make a twitch, unamused. Still mad from where she went. And the fact going there could’ve done serious harm to the only person in the world that didn’t make her want to feel anger _ever._ “Are you okay?”

“I’m feeling a little _Haught_ , now that you ask.”

A twitch, but not much else. “Oh, ha ha. Come on, take off the gear. I want to see.”

She “helped”—yanked—Nicole off the ground and undid the gear without prompt or pause. Then unzipped the jacket underneath and unbuttoned Nicole’s shirt.

“Damn, Earp, where’s the foreplay?”

Nicole examined Waverly closer. Her brows were threaded together. Fingers a bit manic. Rushing, fumbling, like she was scared?

Nicole grabbed her hands. Waverly tried yanking away, but Nicole persisted more forcefully. All jokes aside. Something was going wrong. Nicole, frankly, was sick of the universe letting things go wrong.

“Hey, I’m okay. I promise you, I’m okay.”

Waverly didn’t look the slightest bit convinced. “I just hurled a fireball at you, Nicole. You really think hockey gear will protect you against that? Let me see.”

Nicole stopped her hands again. “I am fine, Waverly. You didn’t hurt me.”

Their hands parted forcefully, on Waverly’s part, only so she could smack Nicole’s chest. “Don’t ever let me get angry again.”

“Sure.” Nicole grabbed her hands again, and looked at her, in that wonderful way she always did. Like she was really _looking_ at Waverly. At first it was intimidating, but now it was one of Waverly's favorite things in the world. “You don’t have to use the ring. It’s your choice. Especially if you’re scared of it. Believe me, I get the idea of not using dangerous weapons.”

The exception of the raid on the Gibson home, of course.

“But we need it. Wynonna needs it, and we—”

“We didn’t need magic before. Don’t push yourself like that, Waverly.”

Waverly’s eyes were on the ground. “I won’t.”

“For the record, I think it works just fine as a healing power up. My arm? Never better.”

A small smile, as Nicole proved her words with a roll of her shoulder. Faded, but there.

So Nicole continued, “Your dad would’ve been proud. Your real one. The other, probably a little jealous. But at least you can melt his face off now.”

A laugh. A laugh! “You’re terrible. You really might be a Slytherin after all.”

It was like Nicole _knew_ what was wrong. Those feelings of Ward and Charlie, hitting all at once. What was fair and not fair, right and wrong. If Wynonna were here she’d give the speech on the true meaning of family. Waverly didn’t want that. She knew that already. But it still hurt to visit the reality of not growing up, albeit for a mere six years, with an angry man who’d sooner drop her in the middle of a desert than try to give a care. It still hurt to visit a life with a complete family and no Earp shadow to escape from; crazy dad, crazy older sister, loaded ancestral legacy every single person in town knew about. It still hurt to imagine plain, boring normalcy, like in the movies, where boy troubles reigned over life or death situations and whatif scenarios that could’ve reshaped her very life. Hell, maybe it’d—

“ ‘ _I hear the drums echoing tonight’_ —”

Nicole was . . . singing? Why? Oh, good god, she had a concussion now, didn’t she? “Nic—”

She put a cold finger over Waverly’s lips. “Nope. You’re gonna listen until you’re happy again. That stupid ring isn’t gonna win!”

Waverly furrowed her brow, but Nicole was unwilling to take the hint.

“ ‘ _But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation’._ ”

Waverly, fighting amusement, with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Nicole, trying to sing her worries away.

“ _‘She’s coming in, 12:30 flight. The moonlit wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation’.”_

“I cannot believe you know that song already.” Nicole’s finger hadn’t moved, so the words were muffled. She also couldn’t believe this giant goof was the same person she met back in September.

“It’s a good song, Waverly, of course I know it. Ready to give up?”

“Give up what?”

Nicole shrugged. “ ‘ _I stopped an old man along the way, hoping to find some old forgotten words or ancient melodies’.”_

A stupid, unauthorized smile was breaking through and Nicole sensed it like a dog on bacon. She grabbed Waverly’s hands and started pulling them, swaying her into a dance. Much like what they did after the Gibson house shootout. Again, Nicole was putting everything into cheering her up. And again, Waverly wanted to melt in a happy puddle at the thought of such a gesture.

“It’s the big one, Earp.”

“No, I’m still upset; you should sing it.” A wicked smile to her.

“Fine. _‘He turned to me as if to say, ‘Hurry boy, it’s waiting there for you’.”_ Nicole looked to the heavens and bellowed, “ _‘It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you! There’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do! I bless the rains down in Africa! Gonna take some time to do the things we never had’!”_

When she looked up again she looked damn satisfied with herself. Wide smile and everything. Waverly was laughing, so she looked further satisfied.

“Damn good song, Earp.”

“And I didn’t even teach you that one.” Jeremy had beaten her to it, over breakfast one morning.

“What do I even pay you for, huh?”

When their laughter died down, Waverly helped Nicole out of the rest of the hockey gear—calmly, with permission— and Calamity Jane watched from the porch with some sort of scared expression to her. Scared because she was a harsh judge on Nicole’s performance or because of the whole fireball incident—either was plausible.

“Thank you, Nicole,” Waverly said once the gear was situated. They both headed to the porch steps to sit. “For everything. The dance at the homestead—everything. It really—it really helps. Thank you.”

Nicole just smiled. “Well, you _did_ save my stubborn ass from certain death. Just being chivalrous.”

“Well, it’s much appreciated.”

“I should be thanking you, though.” Nicole fell serious. “After Shae, I didn’t know what to do, or what I was _supposed_ to do.”

“And now?”

“Now I know exactly what to do.”

Protect her new family, at all costs.

“And I can swim now, so that’s cool, too,” Nicole added. Waverly laughed.

“Just being chivalrous.”

-

“And you expect us to go along with this, Xavier? You know you’re committing treason, right?”

It was almost concerning how much the idea of committing treason wasn’t fazing him.

“You have to admit Dolls does look a lot healthier now than he did last week, though.”

Dolls felt a little more hopeful now. He figured Eliza would have his back. They had kind of a history, after all.  A more intimate history than with the rest of the super soldier crew.

Still alive was Eliza Shapiro, Doug Yorke, Theo “Burbs” Burbatsky, and their commanding officer, Roman Quinn. The most recent of them to pass was “Jingles”, one month ago. Quinn was the only one without any sort of abilities, but he was no fool, either. Betraying Black Badge, in all their numbers and power and reach, was suicide. It was the reason Dolls decided to talk to him last about his rebellion.

“How is it possible the Assassins synthesized a better version of _our_ drugs?” Quinn asked. “Only Black Badge has access to it.”

He also figured Quinn would be a tough customer. Eliza was on board right away. Burbs barely let Dolls finish before he agreed to help.

Dolls explained, probably for the billionth time this hour, “They got their hands on a batch, years ago. The Assassin who died here, Rosita Bustillos, figured it out. She managed to improve it, too. I’ve only had it for a few days but I can already feel the difference. I—”

“So what’s your plan, then, Dolls? Mutiny? Join the Assassins? What’s gotten into you? No wonder Moody thinks you’re up to something—you’re going insane!”

“You defended him anyway,” Eliza mumbled. It was enough to make Quinn stammer.

“That was before I knew about this!” He looked around his tiny office. Door was locked, but it helped to take extra caution when dealing in manners of total mutiny from a morally corrupt secret government agency. “Mutiny, Xavier?”

Dolls stood his ground, kept a stubborn hold to his beliefs. The way Wynonna Earp would. “I can’t work for this organization anymore.”

“So resign! I’ll help—”

“No matter where I go, Black Badge will always be watching me. I’m their property. You know that.”

“He doesn’t, though,” Burbs chimed, leaned against a wall and scratching at his beard, long and dangling off his chin. “Blood type wasn’t good, never saw a needle after that. ‘Cept for flu season, maybe.” He tossed  a smirk that made Quinn’s blood boil. Eliza laughed at the reaction.

“Boy wouldn’t know a flipped-over dangaroo bone from an Egyptian wet blanket.” No one ever really knew what Yorkie was talking about.

“I’m not fond of Black Badge either,” Quinn defended, totally ignoring Yorkie. “But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to run headfirst into the lap of our enemy.”

“X isn’t stupid,” Eliza declared, and Quinn glared at her in a defeated confusion. “He wants to take down Black Badge. What’s the best way to do that?”

“The forklift onto a grassy candler.” Yorkie was ignored.

“Join their greatest enemy,” Quinn sighed.

Dolls moved to make his case again, more confidently now. “Black Badge was killing us, and they didn’t care. They killed Willa Earp, too, and they’ll kill whoever they decide to kidnap next. There _will_ be more kidnappings; this isn’t the first time and you know there are more artifacts out there they’ll want to take. The Assassins probably aren’t ideal, but they’ve always had their priorities straight. They’ve never violated basic morality, such as stealing children and subjecting them involuntarily to potentially fatal experiments. They never worked a woman to her dying breath. They—”

“Show me proof of this Willa Earp conspiracy and maybe I’ll consider what you’re asking.”

Eliza and Burbs looked to Dolls with hope. Hope he actually had such a thing as solid evidence, a thing the smaller, oppressed man never seemed to be blessed with. They were fully on board already, he knew that. This wouldn’t work without Quinn; it was an everyone agrees sort of job. So was Yorkie (not that they could decode otherwise), but for now he stared up at the air duct. Whispering to it.

Quinn kept a neutral face while examining Jeremy’s emails. When he finished he simply handed the phone back to Dolls, face molded into solid stone. Dolls wasn’t exactly sure how to take it.

“Talk to Jingles’s husband in the labs and start using the new serum. He’ll help.” Quinn looked to Dolls, who still wasn’t quite sure the direction of this. In his favor felt too hopeful, and against him felt too scary to visit. Quinn crossed the room, closed the distance between them, and gave his orders. “Get Moody off your back. We can’t risk him catching on.”

Dolls felt the need to let off a childish squeal, but found it in him to keep it professional. “Yes, sir.”

The super soldiers were joining the Assassins.

-

“I hate your squirrely mustache and your ugly, squirrely face, you old west—”

The door opened, and for once Wynonna felt relief with it. The visits from Dolls, frankly, were holding her sanity together. Otherwise it was visions of Wyatt Earp, 24/7. In or out of the Animus.

“God, I missed your stupid boring face, Dolls. Say something boring!”

He spared that rare smile reserved only for Wynonna Earp. And for her, not so rare. “No time today.”

“Is Waverly okay? How’s her hand? Is she eating? Sometimes she forgets to—”

“She’s fine. More than fine, actually.”

Wynonna quirked her eyebrow. “How do you figure, with five broken fingers?”

“For whatever reason, she put on the resurrection ring. She healed everybody, completely. Like nothing happened.”

She only grew more confused, mumbling to herself, “I thought Haught said she was going to destroy that thing.” Then she looked to Dolls, using a louder voice. “Why would she put it on? What if there’s a catch or something, like, I don’t know—what if she grows a second head or some freaky shit?” Her eyes went wide.

“Did that happen to Clootie?”

“I don’t know, but what if I finish this thing and he does? Oh my god, I’m gonna have to decapitate my little sister!”

Dolls steadied her shoulders. “Hey, listen. I don’t have a lot of time. But I promise you she’s okay.”

She glared at him. “You’d better.”

“Look, is there anything I need to know? Anything you found?”

“The Brotherhood kinda hates Wyatt because he’s scared and impulsive, Doc Holliday is a terrible cook, and Robert Svane can’t play chess for shit. Other than that, nope.”

His hands dropped from her shoulders. “Okay.”

“Anything for me? Smuggle in some chocolate, perhaps?”

Dolls softened into a smile again. “Nothing like that. Waverly learned she’s a descendant of—”

“Julian and Robert, I know.”

Dolls blinked. “Okay. The ring is stuck on her finger, but it seems to agree with her.”

“Oh god, I’m gonna have to chop her hand off after all.”

Dolls’s watch started beeping. Visibly, Wynonna’s heart sank. She watched him back step to the door, not at all in a quick fashion.

“That’s all I got,” he said. “Stay safe, Earp.”

Wynonna looked like her puppy’d just gotten kicked. “Bye, Dolls.”

Dolls smiled at her before he left.

And then his heart fell out of his chest, because on the other side of the door he turned to find Moody, walking past. Stopping. Raking him over with suspicious eyes slowly beginning to lose the deep trust they once held in him.

“Xavier.”

Dolls shot up into attention. Cleared his throat. Presented himself as professional as possible. “Sir.”

“What sort of business are you conducting with Wynonna Earp, Xavier?” Always right to the point. A good strategy in business and interrogation.

“I thought she could point me in the right direction, sir. To the missing team. I’ve exhausted all other leads.”

Moody looked a little pleased by that. So far so good. “You never give up on a job, Xavier. I think it’s what I like best about you.”

“Thank you, sir.” He felt like a mindless lapdog. A stupid government lackey, as Wynonna would put it.

“Where are you going to search?”

He needed to be quick on the answer. The question was made to throw him off, to expose the lies he was bottling up. Another great thing about Moody; he could weed out liars with the nose of a beagle.

“I want to check the Gibson greenhouse again.” First place that came to mind.

“Why’s that, Xavier?” Still suspicious. Damn him. “You’ve already searched, I thought? We have what little evidence you presented archived.”

“All the more reason to double check, sir. You can never be too careful, right?”

Moody nodded, but his expression wasn’t something acceptable to be explained as satisfied. “Indeed, indeed. I won’t keep you any longer. You’re dismissed.”

Dolls nodded, crisply, and made for the elevator. Tried not to sprint for it just to get the hell out. He could feel Moody’s eyes, staring at him. Trust wavering. Skeptical.

-

In retrospect, shouting a person’s name to wake them up was probably a terrible idea. Because some people, such as those trained to kill at the snap of a finger, will become startled and punch your leg. Some people being Nicole, and shouters being Dolls.

“What the hell, Dolls?” she hissed from where she lay on the ground, surrounded by a set of heavier weights Dolls assumed she was supposed to be using instead of napping the day away.

He did _not_ look happy about being punched. Well, _Nicole_ was not happy about rude awakenings. Still, to calm things with a fire-breathing super soldier and avoid the fight she knew she would not win, she made sure to add, “Now we’re even for you shooting me.”

He didn’t seem fazed. Or was he? Nicole could never really read Dolls. “I honked the horn four times, Haught. You were supposed to flash the front lights three times—”

“To signal we aren’t all dead and it’s safe to come inside and shout at sleeping people, yes I know.” Nicole rubbed her eyes awake, then pointed them to Dolls. “You’re really obnoxious, I hope you know that.”

Honking car horns and flashing porch lights being a safety rule: knocking was too nerve-wracking. Couldn’t leave the doors unlocked, although the downstairs walls were mostly windows anyhow. If things weren’t safe, Dolls didn’t sound the horn. And he’d use a subtle knocking pattern on the door. If things weren’t safe on their end, the car horn would not be responded with the flashing of the porch lights. Whole thing was his idea. Nicole could appreciate the Hollywood spy code tricks he had up his sleeve. Even if right now she wanted to slap him around.

“And you need to be taking this more seriously.”

Nicole sat up, from where she’d fallen asleep getting ready to do crunches, and leaned against the couch next to her. She said honestly, “No one is taking this more seriously than I am.”

Of course her point was cancelled out by the fact she was still half asleep and unable to keep up with the super speed blabbering Dolls was doing, the way he immediately dove back into business without warning. Going on and on about what he’d done today and what was left to do, something about a weirdo and a whispering air vent, and Moody being a creepy super villain who _appears_ whenever he wants.

He finished, “I’ll go get Jeremy.”

Nicole just blinked. “Sure. What’re we doing, again?”

Dolls wasn’t shy about his growing annoyance. “I thought you were feeling better?”

“I can take naps,” Nicole answered, yawning. Dolls shook his head.

“You should be exercising, getting back into shape. Not copying the lazy lifestyle of your cat.”

Calamity Jane stared at him from the staircase, hatefully. Nicole was giving the same exact glare.

“Don’t bad mouth my daughter. And what the hell did you think I was doing on the floor?”

“Napping.” Dolls resigned and walked for the back door. “Go get Waverly, please. We need to have a meeting.”

Nicole went to Calamity Jane, walking slowly out of spite, and scratched under her chin, as the cat’s head followed Dolls out the door. “Don’t listen to the grumpy man, girl. He does drugs.”

Jane meowed in agreement.

-

Nicole’s job was easier than Dolls’s. Jeremy was on his daily walk, probably halfway across the property, and Dolls apparently refused to use cell phones. Or yell, really loud. Nicole easily followed the muffled sound of music until it was loud and clear, in Waverly’s old bedroom. She stopped in the doorway.

Waverly was dancing and singing along to some song, doing bland, boring old chores far more cheery than Nicole’d seen her in a long time. She didn’t notice Nicole, stuck unsurely in the doorway, until she crossed the room to fix the bed sheets. Nicole expected the usual flustered, red cheeks and quick subject change, but Waverly didn’t react. She didn’t stop singing. Instead she walked over and grabbed Nicole’s hands, gently pulling them to make Nicole dance with her, just as they did earlier. Nicole just smiled and let her have control. No longer having to worry about broken bones or broken skin. Or bad memories and magical rings.

It was as if time stood still, just for them to have a free, genuine _moment._ It was different than any of their other times alone. It wasn’t sad. It wasn’t to cheer anybody up. It was hopeful. It was happy.

Waverly sang along, “ ‘ _Lost in love with you, it’s a pretty thing. Pretty thing. Lost in love with me could be what you need. What you need.’”_

The only reason the concert ended was because Dolls yelled at them from downstairs. The pair giggled, like teenagers caught by a strict parent.

“Extra grumpy today,” Nicole said. Waverly laughed again. She gave Nicole’s hands one last squeeze before heading downstairs.

“Dragons are so testy.”

_The only thing that’s keeping me from going wrong_

_Is you keeping me_

_And the only thing that’s holding me from going wrong_

_Is you holding me_

-

Dolls wasn’t expecting silence after his pitch. He was expecting an argument he’d have to defuse and counterpoint. _Moody will catch on to me, then we’re screwed._ Not that Dolls was their only hope, but there was nothing he could do to hide what he saw here; if Moody caught on to his mission, there was a healthy chance he’d get tossed into an Animus and have his memories stolen. Cue the team being screwed.

His plan was to stage the team’s death. Corpses were still at the Gibson property. A whole crime scene. He wanted to burn the house down, take pictures, and present it to Moody. He’d stop breathing down Dolls’s neck, and the team could strike by surprise come rescue day, a day now arriving considerably sooner than before with everyone healed up, and with the recruitment of Quinn, Eliza, Burbs, and Yorkie.

All points he wouldn’t have to make, because apparently Waverly was totally on board with committing arson on her mother and aunt’s childhood home. She barely took a minute to think it over. If Dolls had a family home to hold onto he’d hold onto it with claws dug deep.

He got the same sense from Nicole, because she urged Waverly to go back one last time. Before it was quite literally burned to nothing. “See if there’s anything you want to take,” she said.

For her, Waverly agreed, though a tad hesitantly. Jeremy and Nicole announced they were going to tag along, and at first Dolls didn’t get it. Not like it was a raid. Then it dawned on him it wasn’t like that; not field support, but emotional support. Another mystery solved for him, one he wondered while trying to arrest them in the past. This small group of people managed to last against Black Badge’s superiority because they had each other. They had something worth fighting for.

-

The sight of the greenhouse, to Waverly, was depressing. The wilted flowers, the wide, forgotten space. Nothing had grown here for years and it was unlikely anything would grow here ever again.

Her father described the place, in its prime. Magnolias, orchids, roses, a whole rainbow of colors and the wondrous scents accompanying them. Now it was cold. Empty, dead. No vibrant sights or odors, just the cold fall air seeping into her bones and the ghosts rattling her mind.

The greenhouse was a graveyard, so she rushed into the literal graveyard of a house. Dolls and Jeremy adjusted things for the photo shoot, Nicole tailed behind Waverly’s rushing feet at a respectful distance. More awkward, the faster she zoomed around the house, because, hey, this was a terrible idea and Nicole one hundred percent felt guilty.

Everywhere Waverly tried to go there was bodies and death. Mama’s childhood room and its unclaimed items: death, bodies. Aunt Gus’s less lively room occupied only by boxes: death, bodies. Grandpa Mason’s bedroom: death, bodies, screaming, the jarring sight of Jeremy’s bruises, the feeling of bones snapping one by one—

“Waverly, calm down. Breathe.”

She didn’t realize she was hyperventilating, or that Nicole had taken her out of Grandpa Mason’s room and back into the hall. Her hands placed solidly on Waverly’s arms.

“Waverly, are you okay? Come on, let’s get you outside. I’m so sorry—”

“No, I’m okay.” Waverly grabbed Nicole’s arms in response. Adding, before the likely wave of rebuttal, “This is good. I’m good. I think I needed to come back here.”

Nicole was lost. “Are you sure? You don’t—”

“I’m sure.”

Waverly tugged her along into the bedroom. There was unfinished business here. No boxes lined up with things Gus had no room to take into her new life. The bed was still made for use. The bathroom, still packed with products for use. Jewelry boxes aligned on the dresser. Photos, forgotten. Waverly gathered all of them, for Gus. Nicole helped, without question. At a respectful distance.

-

Waverly had to replace that awful stetson on Nicole’s head. It belonged to a stranger! Who tried to kill them! It was too strange. So she presented the one Grandpa Mason used to wear, an old white one he was known to wear only for special occasions.

It kept the setting sun out of her eyes as they looked down. Standing far from the house, on the free land the deceased Gibsons were laid to rest. Free in life, free in the afterlife. The Gibsons were an unbound people. Hence Wynonna’s Earp’s spirits. Waverly Earp’s courage. Aunt Gus’s literal everything else.

Nicole wondered how it was possible she’d end up at another graveyard with another Earp. When this all started she never in a million years would guess she’d become the emotional guardian for the two strangers she’d swore she would never get to know, because it just wouldn’t happen. Neither of them were meant for this. She wasn’t meant for this. Wynonna Earp was destined to crash and burn, Waverly Earp was to return to a mediocre life in a mediocre town, and Nicole would gain and grasp onto a normal, boring, forgetful life.

Then she laughed to herself. _Tombstone._ She should’ve known.

Waverly explained her father’s grave to Nicole. After paying respects to her mother’s next to it. His teen years were of delinquency, not unlike Wynonna’s. He joined the Assassins because he’d decided to follow one of them, thinking them shady, and witnessed a murder. His solution to witnessing a murder was to decide, _cool!_ and join up. Basically. He bore a striking resemblance to his ancestor, who turned out to lead a striking resemblance to his own life. He decided to begin his new start with a new name, and mirrored his ancestor Julian Charles to become Charles Julian. Later he erased his connection to Waverly to protect her. She would never enter the Animus, because, on paper, she was adopted from irrelevant parents. She would never end up kidnapped like Willa. Like Wynonna, now.

“He tried to learn everything about Julian, but there wasn’t much to go on,” Waverly went on. “He wanted to find all the rings, a thousand times more after I’d been born. He wanted me to live a life unburdened by the Assassins. He said it was because he saw how you grew up, Nicole.”

Nicole was stuck on the grave. She desperately wanted to thank Michelle for thinking of her. For wanting to save her from Ewan, as she said in her letter. Now it turns out she knew Charlie, all along. It turns out, all along, she was meant to work with the Earp family.

“I only met him once,” Nicole admitted. “Ewan didn’t want me to go to Purgatory yet, so I stayed in Texas. I thought he was nice, but Ewan told me he was a traitor. Now I know he only said that because he was jealous.”

Waverly looked at her. “Jealous of what?”

“He had a family. Ewan didn’t.” Lost to Templars, like Nicole’s parents. And Charles and Michelle, thanks to Ewan himself. “Not to mention he was better at this than Ewan ever was. He and your mother found two of the rings, without the Animus.”

Waverly felt absently at her left finger. The big rock stuck to it. “And now his daughter has a third.”

A chuckle left Nicole. “Poor guy never stood a chance.”

“The ring really connected with Julian,” Waverly said after a short pause. Her fingers continued feeling at the artifact in her possession. “He used it to heal people. It recognized me as his kin, all along. It called me to the mine, and it called me to put it on, several times before today. When I read the letter it must’ve been a confirmation or something.”

“It knows good people, then.” Nicole nudged Waverly. “I always knew you were special. Maybe that’s why the stupid ring won’t let go.”

“It’s not stupid! I think it’s scared. It was terrified of Clootie. I could feel it.”

“When it showed you things?”

Waverly nodded. “Is it possible he had other descendants? Other than his twins?”

Nicole thought it over. It was minutes before she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“So what’s it afraid of?”

“Evil never dies, Waverly. Not fully.”

-

It was as orange and angry as the sky the minutes before night fell, black pouring out of it like lost souls returning home. It was a home, to some, in days past. A ghost town, for one, and a graveyard for a dozen bad men convinced they were doing the right thing. Convinced, brainwashed, or simply uncaring for the simplicity and bondage of morals. Ultimately they burned, the same as the good honest people housed in its sanctuary before them.

It was beautiful.

It was sad

It was so, so angry.

Waverly and Nicole watched, from the free land of dead Gibsons. By Mama’s side, hoping she’d understand why her and Charlie’s only sanctuary from their double lives was being torched. Maybe she’d even welcome it, the idea of burning down the life with Charlie she could no longer lead. She chose the life suited best to protect her girls. She chose Ward, to keep them safe. She died in a jail cell because of a jealous traitor, to keep them safe. And now, unknowingly, the fates passed her protective torch to the next guardian, the very child she once hoped to protect from Ewan as well.

Waverly asked Nicole why she did it. Why she would willingly go against her code, load up a gun, and kill fourteen people. Why she decided to blaze like an angry fire, and chose to remain a girl with a broken wing.

She answered so simply, so reflexively: “I did it for you. I did it to keep you safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look mate, the Avatar reference was RIGHT THERE. I had to. Legally. Twice.
> 
> I also hope putting two music-y scenes in here wasn’t too much. They were totally supposed to be in different chapters but by now I think we all know nothing here really stuck to the original plan. That’s just how it be. Also I really like both those songs and am stubborn as hell. Happens.
> 
> Next chapter: very last old west chapter. Yeehaw, ladies.
> 
> Songs used in this chapter:  
> Africa, Toto [(S)](https://open.spotify.com/track/2374M0fQpWi3dLnB54qaLX?si=_nLIXRyfR4O05GjWyRbJCA) [(Y)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTQbiNvZqaY)  
> Pretty Thing, Broods [(S)](https://open.spotify.com/track/2akDcoPwGl4175JFmQdqGb?si=RpruAx0tSNaBl4H4zZxwUw) [(Y)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F0bOgtmdQ_M)


	22. Sequence 40: Earp, Lawman of Purgatory; Clootie, Snake of the West

**_[SUBJECT: WYATT EARP]_ **

**_[SOURCE: WYNONNA EARP]_ **

**_[SEQUENCE 40, MEMORY 273]_ **

**_[MEMORY START: SEPTEMBER 30, 1888]_ **

 

This was the end.

Two weeks, going at it alone. No deputies, just two friends. One former lawman, one former vigilante, both loyal to hell and back. The fact they were alive made sense in theory, given their combined skill, but Wyatt still couldn’t believe it.

The Assassins swiftly moved out of the Earp homestead and into the abandoned fort the Sunset Vipers gang had occupied. They were masters of deception; Wyatt hadn’t seen them since the big shootout. Or perhaps it was the exhaustion. Working day and night, twice as hard as before, with microscopic numbers.

They three were professional killers. Wyatt was great with a pistol. Doc was carrying the draw speed of legends and a severe inability to miss. Robert had formal training. Together they were a team, and together they steered the rest of the rabble rousers from Purgatory.

Most of Clootie’s outlaws left the territory themselves, once they heard “Viper” Calloway and his big gang had been disposed of. Those who stayed called them cowards, but Wyatt knew them smart. They ran and lived. Those who remained for pride and a twisted sense of glory were gunned down no different from the way they gunned down innocent passersby. Wyatt’s trio worked slowly at it. Something about the slow pace, the knowledge of the big bad lawmen inbound, inevitable, was strong enough in itself to scare off some more tough guys who stayed. Today it was just Clootie and the empty town he dreamed to destroy, on its way to pulling itself back up by its bootstraps.

He and Wyatt made a gentlemen’s agreement. A display of strength. No guns. They would take to the streets of re-occupied Purgatory, in front of the townspeople, and fight with their fists. The man left standing won Purgatory. The bloodied loser was to leave forever. Or do whatever the winner decided they do.

He was very well gambling his fate and the town’s fate to a distrustful man and the hope he’d fight fair. Robert and Doc weren’t falling for it. But Wyatt didn’t care. He rode to town on the set date, met his opponent on the street, and left all guns on his horse.

Clootie let Doc and Robert check the entire town. A desperate, lonely man on his last legs was bound to have tricks, but they found nothing. They checked a second time. Nothing. A third, nothing. Clootie’s person, nothing. The man and his venomous grin, grinning a psychotic notion given the odds against him, stood in his space of a dirt circle in front of the sheriff’s office, unarmed. No suit jacket, no vest, no hat. Just a plain shirt and plain pants. But the black ring was back on his finger, and it was enough to remind Wyatt to stay on guard. Fall for no tricks. There was also a chance Constance was back, but only if Clootie didn’t kill her or worse to get the ring back into his own greedy hands.

“Take off the ring, Clootie.”

Doc reaffirmed Wyatt’s request by pointing his guns. He drew them at full speed, as if he was dueling. Trying to be intimidating.

It didn’t work, the way Clootie began to laugh. He said nothing. He slowly lifted his hands, prompting Doc to pull his revolvers’ hammers, removed the ring, and tossed it aside as if it were nothing. It landed in the clothing pile next to him. He flashed both his hands in a showy way, grinning still, and lowered them completely. “We had a gentlemen’s agreement, did we not?”

Doc answered for Wyatt. “If you are a gentleman, than I am a damn  _ prince _ .”

Clootie laughed, like it was the world’s funniest joke, the sound deep and joyous in a hideous sort of fashion. “Mister Earp, shall we begin?”

A small but noticeable surge of nerves hit Wyatt. He motioned Doc’s pistols down, and Robert in the distance. His eyes never left Clootie. Such a thing could lead to death. Doc and Robert placed their weapons on his horse and bordered the fight zone with the folk surrounding. Clootie looked pleased. The looks Wyatt’s partners were tossing were far from confident this gentlemen’s agreement was going to be fulfilled in a gentlemanly way. Yet, he tossed his coat and hat aside and assumed a fighting stance.

They circled one another defensively. Both men too stubborn to open themselves to attack. Clootie and his undying, annoying grin lunged at one point, but he didn’t commit to a punch. Wyatt assumed he was testing his reflexes. He could do the same. He tossed a jab Clootie was almost too slow to dodge. The nerves burning in his stomach eased a bit.

“You’re embarrassing yourself, Clootie.” Another jab. Almost hit, again. “I am quite adept at hand-to-hand combat.” Another jab, to prove his point. Just barely missed.

But Clootie wasn’t phased. It was suspicious as all hell. More so when he happily insisted today  _ will _ be his. He didn’t come off as the type to celebrate too early, so what the hell was his angle?

“You’re alone,” Wyatt said again. Clootie threw a messy punch. Wyatt blocked it with one hand, noting the weakness of it, and tossed in two punches of his own at the man’s chest. Clootie caught himself before he could stumble. “You’re alone and you’re weak. Even your wives left you.”

The annoying grin died the moment Clootie was hit, and didn’t find it suit to return. “Why couldn’t you stay in San Diego and mind your own business, you nosy pest?”

He managed a hit to the side of Wyatt’s jaw, but it barely stung. What, was the kingpin outlaw malnourished or something? Did they even need to do this or was he about to fall over and die on his own?

Wyatt bounced back with another one-two combo on Clootie’s mid torso. The man was too concerned with guarding his face and left his lower half exposed. Doc’s golden rule rang in Wyatt’s head:  _ Always protect the manhood! _

“I will always have a duty to stop evil men,” Wyatt replied, Clootie stumbling on his feet.

“Evil?” Clootie laughed. “I am a concerned father. As you should be a concerned friend.” He closed the distance between them with a surprising speed, hit Wyatt square in the eye, and pulled him into a deceptively strong hold. The crowd gasped, and cheered louder for Wyatt, trying their best to lend their support. “You should inquire about Holliday’s ring,” he whispered into Wyatt’s ear. “It doesn’t belong to him.”

“Doc wouldn’t make a deal with you. He  _ is _ a gray man, but no darker. He knows up from down!”

Clootie’s grip seemed to loosen intentionally as Wyatt made a stronger effort to escape. He did not raise his hands back into a stance. “Ask him.”

The very notion Doc Holliday would betray Wyatt Earp should’ve been enough to send him into a blind rage. But it didn’t. No, it sent Wyatt Earp into a deep spiral of  _ consideration.  _ Doc was faking his death, supposedly. While the enemy was in possession of a resurrection power. He was impatient the moment he got here, more so than usual. Jumping into the action. Pushing Wyatt to get to the finish line and not backing down about it. Acted more careless than usual. Should that be something worth examining?

No. This was Clootie. He was throwing Wyatt off. He wanted him to spiral long enough to—

 

**_[ERROR: DESYNCHRONIZATION IMMINENT]_ **

 

Stab him with something while he was distracted.

One of the cheering onlookers close to the scene suddenly pushed Wyatt forward. Robert and Doc’s eyes fell on them. And not on Clootie as another planted member of the crowd handed him a needle. A needle he didn’t hesitate to jam into Wyatt’s veins, exposed thanks to his rolled-up shirt.

Doc and Robert were held back by the planted outlaws, the small few who still held faith in Clootie’s dying takeover. (Faith or ignorance?) Clootie took the extra time they bought him to leisurely squeeze Wyatt’s jaw, where the man stood in pain, hunched over from whatever’d just entered his body.

“Snakes have always fascinated me, Wyatt Earp. So small, so powerful. They unleash venom on their enemies and give them slow deaths. Slow, slow, painful deaths. It’s simply beautiful. It’s what one’s enemy deserves; a slow, painful death.”

By now Doc had broken himself free and rushed for Clootie. The man’s hand switched to Wyatt’s collar and shoved him forward hard enough to make Doc stumble.

 

**_[ERROR: DESYNCHRONIZATION IMMINENT]_ **

**_[SOURCE [WYNONNA EARP] VITALS FALLING]_ **

 

The world was closing in. Everything felt far away. Too close. Far away. Black. Wyatt couldn’t see a damn thing. Everything was too loud.

Wyatt Earp was dying.

He couldn’t see anything he wanted to. His head wasn’t working. Or maybe his eyes. Or maybe he just didn’t understand. Tired, oh, he was  _ so _ tired. Doc’s boots were next to him. Then away. Then back. Other feet shuffled around. The sky bore down on him with a heaviness he couldn’t grasp. It was mocking him. It was teasing him.  _ Close your eyes, Wyatt. _

 

**_[ERROR: DESYNCHRONIZATION IMMINENT]_ **

 

“Make the right choice, Holliday. Return what isn’t yours.”

 

**_[ERROR: DESYNCHRONIZATION IMMINENT]_ **

 

The voice was close to his ear: “I  _ am  _ makin’ the right choice.”

The street was clear. Someone forced something cold onto his finger. Then he was strewn across something. Bouncing along, up and down with it. Horseback. He was on a horse? Wasn’t he fighting someone a moment ago?

_ Come home, Wyatt. We’ve missed you. _

 

**_[ERROR: DESYNCHRONIZATION IMMINENT]_ **

 

“Morgan!”

 

**_[ERROR: SOURCE [WYNONNA EARP] REMOVED]_ **

-

**_[RESUMING . . .]_ **

**_[SUBJECT: WYATT EARP]_ **

**_[SOURCE: WYNONNA EARP]_ **

**_[SEQUENCE 40, MEMORY 273]_ **

**_[MEMORY START: SEPTEMBER 30, 1888]_ **

 

Hands were grabbing at him. He shoved them off. In fear, in anger, in confusion.

Wyatt shot up from where he lay. His forehead sweaty. He was back in the homestead, back in his room, laying in his bed. Was it all a dream? He couldn’t have been poisoned. He felt perfectly healthy. His head was clear. He felt rested. Everything he observed connected. Table, next to him. Gunbelt, across from him.

Coughing; a strong, choking sort of coughing, filling the silence.

He turned to find Doc, coughing his lungs up the way Doc Holliday was known to do, into a handkerchief growing bloodier with every heaving hack. The red-stoned ring was not on his finger.

It was on Wyatt’s.

“You bastard.”

The words flew so fast from his lips but he didn’t regret it. Nor did he regret the expression on Doc’s face, guilty like a puppy who’d just eaten a shoe. Hurt, like a puppy who’d gotten his discipline.

Wyatt took off the ring and threw it at Doc, who practically dove for the thing with the desperation of a beggar after gold.

“Wyatt, I can expl—”

“Where’s Clootie, Doc? What the hell happened back there?”

Get the details he needed first, then they’d get to the interrogation. Doc’s quiet demeanor told he understood this agreement.

“Clootie used Robert like a hostage to escape. I could not save Robert, he would have died. Clootie took him, on his own horse. I rushed you back here to—”

He stopped. Interrogation now. Wyatt was standing up.

“To pass on your ‘modern medicine’, Doc? What is this, you’re working with the Clooties now?”

“I would never betray you, Wyatt Earp! We are brothers!”

“You needed it to clear up your tuberculosis.”

“I would  _ never _ cross you this way!”

“Then why, Doc? Don’t you  _ dare _ lie to me.”

“It was Constance Clootie. She dug me up in Colorado and brought me here. That black ring—it brought me back from the dead. Back from the dead, Wyatt!”

Wyatt did not share his astonishment. He saw the Clootie twins. Why Doc wasn’t the same, twisted and inhuman, was a mystery, but one he wasn’t interested in solving just now.

Doc’s trying, sad smile died when he realized this. Wyatt was furious. With him. Pigs were flying. “She gave me this one, the red one. My damned disease, the grave wasn’t enough to take it away. She told me I was indebted to her, and if I did not pay it back she would take it all away. I can  _ breathe  _ again, Wyatt, don’t you see?”

“What were her terms?” He refused to fall to Doc’s charmed, twisted phrasing this time. He made a god damned pact with the  _ Clooties _ .

“I was to bring you somewhere, a place she designated, to face your ‘punishment’, she called it, by me. By your own brother! What exactly did you do to piss this witch off, Wyatt?”

Wyatt’s jaw was tense. He gritted his teeth so tightly they threatened to grind to dust. “Were you planning to go through with it?”

Doc looked offended. Genuinely hurt. As if he hadn’t just revealed a bomb in a hospital, himself. “Jesus Christ, of course not, Wyatt! I said what I had to, to keep her off me! I would never!”

“I cannot take anymore devilry, Doc. Do you know what those women did with those rings? They made people see things. Awful, terrible things. They just _put it_ _inside_ everyone’s _heads_! The black ring—it burned a man’s face off! It brought two boys back from the dead and twisted them into such evilness you wouldn’t believe!”

“I am here to help you, Wyatt.” Doc’s voice was quiet. Ashamed?

“It’s evil, Doc. It’s devil magic. If you want to help, I have to ask you to get rid of it.”

Doc laughed. Not in his hearty way. In a way weaved with exasperation and disbelief. He gave a smile with lips curled in a building anger. “I can  _ breathe,  _ Wyatt. I can go five seconds without bursting into a fit! I finally have the health I have craved for years I cannot count—I have the god damned  _ cure _ to what ails me and you ask me to toss it away, no different from common garbage! I respectfully insist you go to  _ Hell _ at such a request, Wyatt Earp!”

Despite the crushing in his chest, Wyatt kept a neutral face. “Have it your way, Doc. Enjoy your new life. I’ll be out destroying the evil you’re so infatuated with.”

Wyatt rushed for the front, for his hitched horse, loose gunbelt clutched in his hand, and rode for Purgatory. He heard Doc rushing after him and pushed and pushed his horse until his ears could hear only one set of hooves crunching the earth. If Doc wanted to use the artifacts Wyatt had full intentions of locking away forever, that was fine. This wasn’t about babysitting Doc Holliday anymore. He had a job to do. He had to save Purgatory. He had to protect the people. Save Robert, his real friend. Destroy Clootie.

-

Doc never caught up with him. Purgatory was deathly quiet; Wyatt would’ve heard.

He stayed on his horse and walked the town at a moderate pace. Examining every single building, every single corner, no different from the first time he arrived here, with the same intention of finding the same, evil man he’d been looking for all along. Purgatory was a different town now. Broken. Tired. Begging for the finish line.

Heads poked out of buildings, the same way they did when Wyatt arrived. Different from when he arrived; they were relieved to see him.  _ Mama, it’s the sheriff!  _ Someone was so happy they actually cried. But this was no time for conversation. Wyatt brushed off the questions, the confused greetings, and pushed on for the sheriff’s office. He had a feeling Clootie returned here, returned to his grand prize. The way people were eyeing the building was a further indication. Things were going to end where they began.

Wyatt kicked the door in and pointed his pistol sharply in front of him. Yelling Clootie’s name and demands to let Robert go.

Clootie stood from the sheriff’s desk slowly, irritatingly so. Twisted smile to match his twisted sense of humor. Warped laugh leaving his curled lips. Robert wasn’t here.

“So you’ve survived, Wyatt Earp. My, my. Your friend Mister Holliday was a help with that, I‘m sure?”

Wyatt was silent.

“Did you find out his truth?”

Again, silent. Clootie took it as a cue to grin wider.

“Imagine—your best friend, back from the dead, helping the very people you’ve come here to harass.  _ Saved  _ by the very people you’ve come here to  _ harass.” _

“The only person harassing people is you. Where is Robert?”

Clootie closed the distance between them in a slow stride. His hands in front of him, one stroking the black resurrection ring back on his finger. “I knew that Robert would be useful. Friend of Wyatt, friend of the Assassins. You are here, and the hooded fools are chasing him elsewhere. What a useful fellow.”

“Let him go.”

Clootie fell deathly serious. The air became colder with it. “The way you let my sons go? You murderous deviant, you deserve this! All of you, you deserve this!”

“You’ve lost, Clootie. You’re on your last legs. Surrender yourself and I’ll have mercy on you.”

The hand stroking the ring fell from its absent duty. The other fist, the holder of the ring, raised. And gleamed a red aura. Wyatt cocked his pistol. His pearl-handled, Assassins-given gun, the only constant in his time in Purgatory. Just last week Doc suggested he ought to christen it, for all the good its done for the territory. He even engraved Wyatt’s initials into it. But Wyatt thought a name was silly. It was just another gun, just another tool he’d hang up once he returned home. But now, in this moment, aiming it at Clootie, with that evil tool glowing in his hand like the sun itself, he decided to name it: Peacemaker.

Clootie wouldn’t summon his devilry as his wives had gotten to do before. Wyatt’s Peacemaker would strike him first. As Clootie’s fist raised and stretched toward him, Wyatt yanked his trigger as hard as humanly possible.

Wyatt, he himself decided, was stupid. Things were complicated. There was no normal anymore, and there was no possible or impossible. The moment the bullet struck Clootie’s heart, the ring glowed brighter and the hole left in the man’s chest sealed. He continued his sorcery almost uninterrupted.

-

Morgan had died. Virgil was sent away, one-armed and broken forever, to California for a new start. Another new start. That’s what all this was supposed to be, a new start. They weren’t lawmen anymore. Wyatt wasn’t supposed to be a lawman anymore. But, just like a curse, he was roped back into it and found himself in a shootout no thanks to a hot-headed, drunken idiot. All this because Ike Clanton was a paranoid fool who drank too much, and his associates were immoral and equally stupid.

This ride was unlawful, but he didn’t care. These vile men had to pay. They shot his brother through the back and killed him. They killed him dishonorably, for doing his damn job. It was Wyatt’s turn to be an unlawful killer. If you’re killing a killer, what’s the harm? It’s justice served, isn’t it? All the law’s bound to do is hang them. This was nothing more than a time saver.

His pistol was hot. His pistol was busy. The Cowboys were easy targets.  _ Tat-tat-tat,  _ like a Gatling gun. One man hit Wyatt, so Wyatt pinned him to the ground and hit him back, repeatedly.

A voice echoed. A voice he vaguely recognized, but found himself too preoccupied to acknowledge or reply. “Is this the hero of Purgatory?” it said. Purgatory was familiar, too, but Wyatt couldn’t pin it just now. 

“Is this your hero?” It laughed. “Beating an innocent man in the streets—is this your hero? Tell me, who is the madman now? Does this look like a sane man to you?”

The laughter continued, and a small part of Wyatt far away knew it should’ve annoyed him, but he kept going. Punching his enemy into the dirt. Punching his enemy for destroying his family.

-

“Good lord Jesus, Wyatt Earp, you owe me so many—”

Wyatt screamed. Three sets of hands were holding him down in the dirt where he squirmed, kicking and shouting and shouting. The voice talking at him stopped suddenly, when his eyes finally jutted open. He wasn’t in Tombstone. He was in Purgatory. Which means the man he was beating . . .

He shot up. “Did I kill anyone?”

Wyatt didn’t even look around, he just asked the question. Someone behind him laughed and patted his shoulder. Called him a good man.  _ Then _ he looked around, because that voice was unmistakable.

It was the Assassins who saved him this time, second time today. And promptly explained, in his immense confusion, Clootie somehow, conveniently, gained control of his ring and used a mind trick on him. Something they didn’t know the black ring could do. Constance kept the Assassins busy elsewhere before she disappeared into thin air. They rode into town just in time for Clootie to run off, and find Wyatt, attacking townspeople, lost in his visions. Visions being the vendetta ride after the O.K. Corral. Nobody saw Doc.

Wyatt took the minimum amount of time to process. Mostly because they didn’t  _ have  _ any time, he felt that in his gut; Clootie was figuring out the magic. “Where is he now?”

Levi was doing the answering now. Levi, who’d sworn off Wyatt’s help. “Constance mentioned something about the old uranium mine before she slipped away. Place got shut down when Purgatory was overrun.”

“Why there?”

Levi shrugged. “There’s a big mountain there. Maybe for the drama of it.”

“Indeed,” Wyatt nodded. He tried to force himself off the ground, but failed miserably. Someone patted his shoulder and helped him up. Jimmy. Jimmy, who’d sworn him off. “I’ll, uh, I’ll try not to get in your way up there.”

Jimmy patted his shoulder again, laughing again, in a friendly manner. So they  _ were  _ friends again, then. 

“No,” Levi said, stepping forward, “we ride together.”

Wyatt was waiting for Levi to laugh and tell him to go to hell, but it never came. “I thought we weren’t together anymore?”

Levi just stuck his hand out. “It was a rash decision.”

“We was all riled up, and tired. And just plain stupid,” Jimmy added. “We need to be workin’ together, else the asshole wins, right?”

Next to him, Maggie nodded. “Normally I’d stop the stupidness, but—Jenny. I was stuck on Jenny. I really liked that woman.”

Wyatt eyed her. “I’m truly sorry.” Then he shook Levi’s hand, firmly as he could manage. Happy to reinstate their partnership. “All of you, I’m sorry. I let my excitement about Doc get the best of me, and now three of our own are dead. I failed you.”

Scoffs followed the last bit. Not sarcastic. Disagreeing.

“Two,” Levi corrected. “Fish is just fine. He needs rest, but he’ll be fine.”

Wyatt laughed at the miracle of it.

“We’ve got your back, Wyatt Earp, the way you’ve had ours from day one. Let’s put all the foolishness behind us, yeah?”

“I would love nothing more.”

“Say, where is Holliday?” Jimmy asked. “Boy didn’t chicken out, did he? And Robert, did you find him?”

“I don’t know where Doc went.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Probably running back to Clootie for more of his precious magic. Wyatt voted to keep that part out. “As for Robert, he’s still out there. I’m afraid that’s my fault, too.”

Levi patted his shoulder. “So let’s go get him back. What do you say, Wyatt Earp? Ride with us?”

In these people, Wyatt was reunited with a feeling he’d lost since the homestead attack. He felt faith. He felt hope. Togetherness. They’d beat Clootie, together. They’d beat him because they were better. They were moral. They had something to fight for. They had each other’s backs. One person fell, their neighbor picked them up. That’s something Clootie didn’t have. Never had, probably. And it would be the weapon they’d finally beat him with.

Wyatt rode for the mountain on the setting sun, the Assassins close behind him.

-

They hiked to the top of the cliff on foot, glowing lanterns swinging with every marched step, following the pattern of an angry mob. Wyatt’s Peacemaker never left his hand. Levi never left his side, armed with Ambrose’s crossbow. The Nedley cousins, even with their recovering legs, led the Assassins in their quiet trek to the last stand.

The flat peak held a nightmare: a wide spread of reanimated corpses. All of them the people the Assassins had put down since Clootie’s arrival. Stevie, Peeper, the Jack of Knives — everyone. The sight should’ve caused a tremble to their step, a quiver to their knees. To Wyatt, all it did was force his finger to pull Peacemaker’s hammer back. They came this far. He came this far. This was for Purgatory. This was for Robert. This was for everyone they’d lost. He wasn’t backing down.

“Lady and gentlemen,” he addressed his people, Peacemaker raised to the heavens, “let’s finish this.”

Peacemaker shot. A war cry left the Brotherhood, and the battle begun.

Levi helped Wyatt to the goal. The undead bounced back after otherwise fatal attacks; couldn’t die if you were already dead. They weren’t fully human. They were walking corpses, faces rotting flesh and death’s stench still reeking over them. So they couldn’t all crowd and confront Clootie altogether. Fine by Wyatt; one shot through the head would surely be all he needed. No super healing powers for the dead.

He shot and shoved his way to the edge of the cliff on the far end of the freakshow war zone, where Clootie awaited him. Robert pressed to his front with a gun pressed to his head. Snake’s smile. Gloating energy about him.

“No more tricks, Clootie,” Wyatt said. “It’s over now.”

That wicked, evil cackle made its entrance. “If that is so, at the very least I’ll be happy to die, knowing the people of your precious town remember you as a violent man. Perhaps they’ll even grow to fear you, as they’ve grown to fear me.”

Wyatt didn’t respond to that. The people of Purgatory could fear him all they wanted. The big goal here wasn’t to win their love. It was to free them. If they can’t get past the display Clootie put on for them, so be it.

“I expected Holliday to be nipping at your heels,” Clootie further tormented. “Surely by now you and your greatest friend would’ve made up? What if I try another vision on you?”

“I’ll shoot you before you get the chance this time. You’ve lost the element of surprise.” Wyatt wanted to sound confident, but the sight of his close friend held at gunpoint was wrecking his nerves. Innocent, do-good Robert Svane, a hostage. Not to mention, he wasn’t exactly  _ sure _ he’d manage a shot in time.

Clootie chuckled. “I admire that blind, unbreakable confidence of yours.” He indicated the mess behind Wyatt, the walking undead battling the lively warriors struggling to keep them down. “ _ That  _ is what this artifact is capable of. Imagine if I’d figured it out sooner.”

“I don’t think I want to.” Nervous enough, honestly.

“I find myself in regret, Wyatt Earp.” A long villain monologue—definitely the last stand, here. “I brought my boys back to  _ life _ , but treated them with ignorance because of how they looked.  _ That _ is my greatest regret: forgetting to appreciate what I had before it was lost. Lost all over again!”

“If you’re expecting an apology, you can keep waiting. We cannot play God and decide who gets to die and who gets to live forever. That’s—”

“If a God will allow my children to be slain in cold blood, then he is undeserving of being a God at all! Children! I worked myself to the  _ bone _ to give them an honest life. I worked to the  _ bone _ to give them  _ everything.  _ Then they insisted on settling in this piss hole of a town, and got themselves gunned down like lowly filth! Gunned down by those you have chosen to hold close, while those they  _ saved _ from lives of underaverage mediocrity  _ watched _ as they bled out.”

“They used their power as tyrants. They stole from the people of Purgatory to line their own pockets! No different from the government men you hate so much, correct?”

“Of course they were different! How  _ dare _ you speak ill of my sons!”

“I—”

“Silence! Now!”

Clootie hit Robert over the head with the pistol clutched tightly enough to pop in his hand. Wyatt obeyed like a fool, with Robert’s beady eyes bearing down on him. Robert was secluding too much of Clootie to try and take a shot. They were standing too close to the edge of the cliff, as well. Couldn’t get someone to try a different angle, because there was none. Dark of the night was absolutely no help, either. Options were scarce, assuming any actually existed.

“I shouldn’t have pushed them away,” Clootie went on, shaking his bald head in the moonlight as it shone. His usual wide-brimmed hat was missing. “I shouldn’t have let you kill them. I shouldn’t have let that devil woman Constance take them away, and I shouldn’t have trusted those faceless whores to make sure Constance didn’t do anything stupid! If she hadn’t killed them, I would’ve done it myself!”

Okay, two less Clooties to worry about. Might be easier to find their rings, assuming Constance took them.

Suddenly the exact items in question flew through the air and landed at Wyatt’s feet in a quick flick of Clootie’s wrist. They were in his balled up left fist, the one holding Robert by the neck as close to him as possible, the perfect human shield.

“Constance did something to them; they’re useless.” He laughed, suddenly. “She’s the one you should be pointing that gun to!”

“Right now my only concern is where  _ your _ gun is pointed, Clootie.”

And Clootie laughed harder, so hard, so lively, so ready to burst an organ over it. It was  _ so funny. _ “If you want to end me, Wyatt Earp, you’ll need to end Robert as well.”

Wyatt nearly let his gun fall to the floor. Clootie was right. Robert was completely blocking him, even his god damn toes! His head poked out to talk, probably comically in another circumstance, and would surely retract no different than a turtle back into its shell, the second Peacemaker fired. And, again, too close to the cliff to have someone else sneak up on them. Scaling the whole damn thing would take too much time. Unless Clootie had another big speech to give.

“Do it! Do it!” Robert yelled without hesitation, because that’s just the sort of person Robert was. Selfless. The type of person who would never gun down two boys because they looked scary or make a pact with devils to serve his own interests.

Didn’t mean Wyatt was on board. A good person was worth saving. “Robert, no!”

“Do it! You have to! You have to finish the job. You have to find the missing rings! You have to get home safe to your Josephine!”

“No. I would never sacrifice you!”

Robert was tearing up, the tears flowing as free as the undead behind Wyatt once were. “Please, Wyatt.” He eyed the Assassins as they fought, but Wyatt didn’t turn to eye them, too. He already knew what the chaos behind him was building to. “They’ll lose. And so will you.”

Clootie laughed as Wyatt pondered what was amounting to a torturous decision. Suffering Wyatt was everything he’d been dreaming of, and this was certainly living up to it. He’d be damned if he gave in to what Clootie wanted. He’d be damned if he let Robert die.

But he had to.

Clootie’s speech gave him plenty of time to explore the scenarios. None of them worked. Like a cruel joke, none of them worked!

There was no time. Their foes would not fall until their summoner fell. They would keep fighting, forever and ever, until the Assassins fell to exhaustion. Only then would Clootie see fit to end this. It’s what he hoped to gain here. All of his enemies, destroyed.

Peacemaker aimed for Robert’s chest. Prepared to do what it was christened for. The black ring gripping itself on Clootie’s finger stared back at Wyatt, a taunting demon straight from Hell itself.

“Thank you, Robert Svane. Thank you for your friendship, your loyalty, and your trust. You’ve grow into a strong, moral man. You’ve found a confidence in yourself, and your heart burns true and bright for what it believes in. Do me a favor and rest well.”

Robert smiled, the best and happiest and most reassuring way he would manage. “I will, Wyatt. I will.”

The bullet flew in a slowed time. Out the cylinder. Through the barrel. Exploding into the air. Soaring for its target, held true and steady. It was routine, but it felt so wrong. 

The scream that ripped from Robert would echo in Wyatt’s mind for the remainder of his life, as would the image of the bullet, piercing through his chest and into Clootie’s behind him. As would the falling of Robert’s limp corpse as it crumpled against the ground. It stole his attention off Clootie’s face, not allowing him to see the victorious smile curled across the man’s chapped lips morph into crippling pain at the speed of lightning. With it, Clootie finally released his pistol and fell to his knees. Weaker than the last time he was shot, given all the power his greed insisted on using simultaneously. 

He could not close the wound in time.

Wyatt grabbed him by the collar, shaking him roughly with it and punching him once for Robert’s sake. He laughed, laughed like the villain he was. Laughed like the proud psychopath he was, rolling in his one last victory before his one great, final loss.

“You chose the disloyal one, time and time again. Here the loyal one stands, by your side forever, and  _ this  _ is how you repay him? You kill him?”

Wyatt punched him again, the cracking of bone the perfect sound effect to match. “Shut up!”

As blood exploded onto his face, painting his skin crimson, Clootie laughed impossibly harder. His whole body shook with it. “The gun. It wasn’t loaded!”

Wyatt thought about this moment for days. What he’d say at the end. How he would feel. What he would do, at the sight of Clootie in justice’s hands. One scene that never occurred to him was the current:

Punching Clootie twice more, watching more and more blood paint more and more of his face.

Raising his enemy, high in the air, high in the moonlight.

Gripping his collar with reddened hands, staring up at the monster in the night air.

Tossing him over the cliff, and watching him fall to his death.

Listening to him laugh the whole way down, until his body crushed against the earth below.

With Clootie’s death, the corpses fell again, and descended or ascended back into the afterlife. Back into the slumber they, good or bad in the life previous, earned.

Wyatt sat by Robert’s body. He apologized until he couldn’t find the air to do so any longer.

 

**_[END: SEQUENCE 40, MEMORY 273]_ **

 

******_-_ **

 

******_[START: SEQUENCE 40, MEMORY 274]_ **

**_[MEMORY START: OCTOBER 1, 1888]_ **

 

“I see you’re all set to go.”

“Glad to see you’re still kicking.”

Wyatt left his horse and quit his triple-check on saddlebags to meet Ambrose. Walking up to him with his arm in a sling, his friendly, welcoming smile making a glorious comeback.

“I’m so grateful I get to keep it,” Ambrose said, indicating his intricately-wrapped arm. “Homosexual  _ and  _ disabled? That’s just asking for too much, isn’t it?”

They met by the hitching posts stuck in front of the house. The place was empty for the day. Scouts scanned Purgatory for lingering outlaws, others looked for Doc Holliday, who still hadn’t turned up. They began to fear for the worst. Wyatt was beginning to regret their spat. Was he too rough on Doc? Unfair? Let his fears get the best of him?

“I did as you asked,” Ambrose said again. “All evidence of your time here has been burned, for your family’s sake. Won’t come back to haunt you. Unless Jimmy gets drunk. He’s the chatty type, you know. Can’t believe you gave that boy the sheriff job. That, plus the gun on his hip—nobody’s ever gonna tell him to shut up again.”

Wyatt couldn’t bring himself to laugh at the clear attempt at humor on Ambrose’s part. Not right now. So he changed the subject. “Did they find the body yet?”

“No, still looking.”

“Damn. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thrown him off without taking his ring first.”

“Don’t be sorry, Wyatt. He’s dead now, that’s all that matters.”

“What of his wife?”

“It’s safe to assume Constance left town. But the rings are all accounted for, so I think it’ll be alright to let her go.”

“Not all of them. Doc’s red ring is missing. I don’t think I should—”

“Yes, you should. Go on. I understand. With everything that’s happened, you  _ should _ go look for Doc lonesome. It’s good to have a think. Some peace. Just make sure you mail us back that rock on his finger. And take this with you and keep safe, alright?”

He presented Wyatt the fully repaired Colt .44 he originally arrived with, the one gifted to him by the mayor of Tombstone. To Ambrose’s surprise, Wyatt swapped him Peacemaker.

“To remember me by,” Wyatt explained. Ambrose’s smile returned.

“I’ll leave it in your homestead. You know, the one you’re too stubborn to sell? If, down the line, a future Earp needs it, it’ll be waiting for them.”

Wyatt nodded his approval. Been awfully quiet since the showdown. Ambrose looked guilty for it.

“Thank you for doing this, Wyatt. Coming out of retirement to help a town full of people you’d never met.”

“It was a worthy cause. Thank  _ you _ for always protecting the people of Purgatory. I think I’ll see about aiding your cause in the future. Perhaps getting the government in on it will give you the power you need.”

“Oh, not to mention that fancy federal budget! I think we’ll call it ‘Black Badge’; or something.”

_ Work in the dark to serve the light— _ it was one of the organization’s sayings.

Wyatt’s responding laugh was dry. Faked, almost. Both men tried to ignore it. They shook one another’s hands, firm and steady. Then Wyatt stepped for his horse.

“Farewell, Ambrose Dickenson. You’re doing fine work here. I wish you luck in all your future endeavors.”

Ambrose eyed him with the same, student-like adoration as he did when they first met. “Farewell, Wyatt Earp.”

The first step on the open road was the loneliest. It was a harsh reminder the two friends he regained, after all those years apart, he lost. One to wishes and unchecked greed. One to Wyatt’s own greed for redemption. His sins in Tombstone were rotting his core. All the things he could’ve done different there, he tried to apply here. Instead he ended with more sins than he started, and more nightmares than before. More late nights thinking over what could’ve been. What should’ve been. The god damned gun was  _ empty. _

He wouldn’t attend Robert’s funeral. Killers don’t attend their victim’s funerals. He would use the energy to push forward. To grasp for better things than a life of quiet gambling.

He was going to find Doc Holliday, a man equal to him in sin. Together, they’d stand as brothers again, and together they’d fix things for good. Together they would uphold Robert’s legacy for goodness. Their own Brotherhood, their own Creed.

For Robert, they would become better men.

 

**_[END: SEQUENCE 40, MEMORY 274]_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that’s that on Mister Wyatt Berry Stapp Earp. I truly hope his tale was something enjoyable, hopefully at least the tiniest bit believable, and something to think about moving forward with this story. We may be done with the Animus chapters, but the things Wyatt did and saw will continue on all the way to chapter 28 there. Again, I always try to plan ahead on these things, so everything left ambiguous/unanswered here will show up again later as Wynonna and team move to complete their mission.
> 
> Just six chapters left now. I cannot thank you all enough for allowing me the chance to write a story, especially a story with not-really time travel, dumb little nerdy references, and our heroes in the light of the Assassin’s Creed universe. I love Wynonna Earp, I love history, I love the old west, and I love getting to tell stories to cool people. Do me a favor and have a fantastic rest of your day, now.
> 
> *somewhat believable western accent* I’ve yee’d my last haw.


	23. The Past, in Present

_November 4, 2016_

Lucado was in a tailspin. The old west memories ended less conclusively than she hoped. A lot less. Wyatt left Purgatory before Clootie’s ring was recovered, and Doc Holliday was still wearing, presumably, the red longevity ring. The search wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

She yelled, threw papers about, yelled some more when she couldn’t get Moody on the phone, and reviewed their research notes in a frantic haze. It was all there was to do; the longevity ring was missing, as long as Doc Holliday was missing. The longer they searched, the more likely their foes were to rebuild themselves. How long before the Assassins grow their ranks and launch another full-scale attack on Black Badge?

For Lucado, things were getting harder. On the flip side, the Assassins had won.

They knew: Clootie’s ring: found. Rings of the Widows: found. Longevity ring: missing. But not for long.

Because Wynonna Earp knew exactly where Doc Holliday was.

She didn’t know how she knew, but she _felt_ it, in her gut. All she had to do was wait for Dolls to come back, and send that information along to the rest of her team.

For the first time since she’d arrived at Black Badge, surrounded in the flying papers and flying swears of her captor, Wynonna Earp laughed with pure joy, in the pure knowledge that the Black Badge Division, the Templars, had lost to the Assassins.

-

Dolls had only felt true terror once before in his life. Not when he was deployed to Kandahar with the military. Not when bullets flew for him, behind angry faces that wanted him dead, dead, _dead._ It was when he was a child, staring in the face of a cold, uncaring man. It was when the man watched him so calmly, as a monster in a lab coat who only seemed to be faceless in his nightmares stuck him with needle after needle, his blood boiling as stew and body morphing into that of a sci-fi creation bred for no higher purpose than war. Than tearing apart another man’s home because a richer man wished it so and disguised it with politics and fear factors. That abstract, meaningless, pathetic need for power.

He felt it again now, as that same cold man with endless seas of plots dragged him along, just him and no one else, for a private meeting.

At first Dolls knew in his _soul_ Moody wouldn’t kill him. Killing him would be just too stupid. Then he remembered: the old drugs, now gone out of his system like nothing happened, were supposed to leave him in a shallow grave by the year’s end. It was November now. What was the point in keeping him around? Dolls never feared death before. Not when he was in agony all day and all night and watched his only family experience the same fate. But now he had the cure. Better drugs. New friends. A new purpose. Working for a cause he actually believed in, not the cause that was barely keeping him alive. It would be simply too cruel for things to end now.

He sat on one of Moody’s stupidly expensive boats, riding waves as if they were father and son on a simple boat trip.

Moody said absolutely nothing. Dolls handed over the photos of the Gibson house, burning, and the charred corpses he dressed to look like his new team. From here he was motioned along with a gesture from the office all the way to the wide expanse of the sea. Alone on a boat, just them. No guards. No guns. No powers; suppressants were freshly taken. If Dolls needed to defend himself he’d have to make do with the old, worn fishing pole stuck between his hands, sun burning his face, ocean air seeping into his bones. He never liked boats.

“What a ruse you have concocted, Xavier.”

It was so calm, so casual, Dolls swore his imagination was cooking things up.

“Sir?” He felt the need to straighten up his posture. Be at attention, be proper, because he was a soldier before his superior. And, in the thick of things, his maker.

“I expect this from anyone,” Moody said again. Still not turning to face Dolls, acting so casually, so relaxed. Father and son, fishing. “Betrayal is everyone’s favorite pastime, I think. They become greedy. They see something they think they can obtain, something they think is for them, and become, well, stupid. It’s a shame. What greater good is there than shaping the planet into perfection? Guiding humanity to a better future?”

He finally turned to Dolls, and Dolls felt a chill break down his spine. Moody’s eyes locked onto him like a missile to a target, and surely things were about to explode into a fiery mess.

“But you, Xavier, you I would never have dreamed of watching fall.”

Dolls couldn’t answer. The words couldn’t form.

“From the day I saw you, I knew you were made for greater things. You were made to serve the Templar Order, serve all that is good. I would _never_ have imagined you would get tempted by those Assassin _rats_.”

His eyes fell back to the water. Back to the waves, pulsing lazily. Calmly, in a fashion slowly sewing itself into eeriness. Dolls watched his eyes, how they never lost their edge.

“Sir—”

“Ah-ah, no. It is not your time, Xavier.”

Dolls shut up, an obedient dog.

“Good. You need to remember something: I made you. I took you from a life of mediocrity, a life lived under the legacy of a drunken father and absent mother, and I made you something _great,_ Xavier. I made you a soldier. I made you a hero! I gave you everything you could’ve ever wanted—a life of glory!—and you _dare_ betray me? You _dare_ fall for the antics of some outcast from a small-minded hick town, and plot against me? Did you think I wouldn’t notice, Xavier? I know where you go, in such a hurry. I know those missing men are dead, by your hand. I know the ‘evidence’ was fake. I know you are willingly lending aid to our greatest enemy, and I sure as _hell_ know you are rallying your brethren in a sad attempt to overthrow what you think is evil. Oh, I _know,_ Xavier. Here’s something _you_ need to know: you are going to fail.  You are going to lose. You are following the absolute _lowest_ pile of losers on the planet, and you are giving up every great, glorious thing I have _handed_ to you! All for what? What, Xavier? Do you need a higher purpose in life? Are you so full of yourself? Is this you playing the part of the defiant child? I can make you seen, Xavier. All you had to do was ask. Instead you insist on this ridiculous display.”

Dolls grit his teeth. “So what now? Kill me?”

Moody laughed at such an idea. “Kill you? No. No, my boy, no. You have only a month left anyhow; it would simply be too cruel. No, I want to see this play out. I want to see you live out this sad cry for attention, and I want to watch you fail in it. And then, only then, may you die, knowing you have lost and you have failed all those around you; those around the office who look at you, as if you were a God walking the Earth; your new friends, whom you’ve devoted all your energy to; your fellow super soldiers, who will die by your traitorous side, bestowed with false hope and crushed dreams. Please, Xavier, by all means, live!”

“Dying a failure,” Dolls found it in him to say, “will always be a thousand times better than dying a life fulfilling your wishes.”

Again, Moody laughed. “How do you figure?”

The cold eyes met him again.

The boys in Dolls’s neighborhood were his best friends. They gave him the best memories of his life, memories he intended to take to his grave, however he should reach it. They reminded him of easier times. Happier times. Playing on the streets. Hopscotch. Basketball. Baseball. Football. Silly, made-up games with made-up names. They were his escape. From his father, always numb and far away and _absent_. From the neglect his mother gave, to everyone in her life, not just him. From the gunfire of the battlefield and the demons at night. From the faces of lost innocents, following him. From the lab. From the needles. From the cold pair of eyes looking down on him. Every child in his neighborhood was taken. Only he remained, with strangers from neighborhoods all over the country.

The cold eyes, staring down on him as he seared with pain and begged for it to _stop, please, please, PLEASE stop._

The cold eyes, watching him as he perfected his shooting, his fighting, his reading, his everything. Never with expression, always with a neutrality he found threatening. He was never quite sure why.

The cold eyes, looking down on him and his fellow soldiers, as they devastated a whole village of people. Not smiling, but satisfied.

The cold eyes, looking down on him and his fellow soldiers, in full gear, raiding one town after the next, so small and so weak.

The cold eyes, looking without care as he and his fellow soldiers begged and begged him, as they always seemed to, to _please, please, PLEASE find another solution._ They were dying, from their own medication. From the disease the cold eyes cursed them with in the first place. But he was uncaring. He was betting against them, the longer that Willa Earp worked for Black Badge. She was handing them everything. The soldiers were losing their value. He could simply make a new batch of them, once that Willa Earp finished her work and handed them ancient, magical artifacts. No, no they would not be saved. They could die. The programs to save them were shut down. Maybe if they all worked harder, collectively, for the artifacts, they could be healed before they were finally killed. And if they were killed, it was a small interference. They would be replaced with a newer, better, shinier set.

The cold eyes lied. They didn’t hand Dolls glory. His glory was achieved despite them. They didn’t care about him. They never did. They were the source of his pain, and his eternal suffering. They could not watch him fail. They could not take anything else from him. Not his new team, his new, fellow soldiers. They would torture him no longer. Xavier Dolls was a free man, not a dying man, and he made his own decisions. He wasn’t made to pummel small villages for the tiniest of information for more artifacts. He would contribute to more Willas no longer. He was going to step up, and be a god damn man, for once. For once, he was going to apply his “glory” as a soldier and actually help the people, not a rich man’s interests.

Dolls looked the cold eyes back, with all the fury in him. He answered them, “Because I stand for something. I’ll never fail if I stand for something.”

The bout of laughter erupting from Moody’s lungs was the last sound he would ever make, as his once most trusted soldier, Sergeant Xavier Dolls, twisted his neck and killed him. In the end, as he always feared, he was betrayed in the most ultimate way, by someone he trusted blindly. The smile on his face remained etched on his corpse.

Dolls collapsed to his knees. His hands shaking and shaking, quite possibly without end.

“Oh, shit.”

He stared at Moody’s body, lifeless.

-

Nicole Haught was a _child._

She ran around the property with the energy of a _child,_ her animal companion in tow, trying to do everything possible in the world at the same time. Jumping jacks. Boxing. Weight lifting. Full-on sprints across the ranch. Chasing her own cat around, tossing around snow-covered hay bales for a very confused Gus, who swore just yesterday she was a hobbling zombie, groaning and dragging her feet about the house. Now she was young and spry, running all about the place because, unknown to Gus, she was _alive._ A week ago it was her wish to be left behind to die on the pavement of Black Badge’s property. Two days ago she couldn’t sit right, and just yesterday she was beginning to think long-term the effects of her near lifeless arm. Now she’d been healed by the literal power of magic and damn did she feel _alive._

It made Waverly so happy, her face hurt from smiling.

She fed from Nicole’s joy like it was the force keeping _her_ alive. It was nice, to be happy. It was nice, to be hopeful.

They were singing to that same Toto song for the billionth time, Jeremy included, when their Dolls-issued work phone rang. The downside of good times was they never seemed to last long enough. Maybe that’s what made them so special.

Nicole was the one to answer it, recognized unofficially as their leader. Co-leader, with Dolls in the mix now.

Her grin fell into concern, and took the room’s good energy with it. It completely captivated Jeremy and Waverly’s attention, as they whispered back and forth trying to figure out what the hell could’ve possibly gone wrong now.

“Dolls, it’s alright, just slow down!”

They examined Nicole’s words with magnifying glasses and fine tweezers. If Dolls was losing his cool, chances were the BBD headquarters was being struck by the hand of God. (Were they equipped to fight God?)

“Wait, whoa, whoa, wait. Wait. _What_? Can you repeat that?”

Whispers. Figurative magnifying glass and tweezers.

“Wh—I—Okay. That’s not how I imagined _that_ happening, but okay. One less thing, right?”

Whispers. Aggressive hand gestures and flying theories.

“I’m _not_ joking around, Dolls. Look, what do you want to do? What do you mean—You killed the entire _team_ , Dolls! Someone’s bound to notice! It’s Moody!”

Aggressive hand gestures and whispers of Moody. _Moody isn’t fighting God, Jeremy, he’s an atheist!_

“We can’t hide forever. We can’t just keep hiding.”

A pause. Even Jeremy and Waverly were silent.

“No. Tell Wynonna. We’re doing this right now. We’ll be there as soon as possible.”

Phone hung up. Nicole’s team stared back at her with bated breath. She was aware, the way she walked over with an uneasiness about her, stepping slowly, sighing, tapping fingers against the phone.

“So, uh, Dolls sort of killed Moody?”

Jeremy’s jaw dropped. Waverly stammered, “What— _Sort of_? Why would he kill Moody?”

“Moody figured him out, so he took Dolls on a boat like a scene from a crappy action movie and Dolls got freaked out and killed him.”

Nobody really had an answer for that. Wynonna? Sure, yeah, she’d do something like that. Dolls? Xavier Middle-Name-A-Mystery Dolls? Hell no. Xavier Dolls doesn’t get freaked out.

Waverly looked at Jeremy, who by now was sure to swallow a fly, then back to Nicole. “Okay, so what now?”

“Dolls called in a false report. He made it sound like we attacked. They sent him back to the office to protect Wynonna. He threw himself overboard and swam to shore; they think Moody’s still in the water.”

Jeremy’s jaw finally snapped shut, in realization. “We’re going to do it, aren’t we? We’re attacking the BBD headquarters, right now? _Right now?”_

Nicole shrugged. “Right now.”

“Are we even ready for that?” Waverly asked.

Nicole patted her shoulder and headed out to the ranch’s barn. “As ready as we’ll ever be.”

The case of Templar Grand Master Moody, head of Super Evil Corporation, was something Nicole frequently juggled around in her head. Kill him, don’t kill him. What was right, what was wrong. Chances were, in what she’d learned about the world and its justice system, a person of Moody’s high stature and all around usefulness would get off with basically no real charges. Whole thing would probably be covered up, then he’d move to his next line of work doing the same damn thing. Killing him was the only way to stop him from doing evil ever again. But it just seemed so easy. All those years he worked, all those things he did, would face a five second punishment of a blade to the chest. Then he’d be laid to eternal rest. He’d get off as a victim of violence, practically unpunished.

Right now, with the position Dolls put them in, she didn’t know if she was furious or plain relieved with not getting to come to a final conclusion. For certain, she did know it was Dolls’s call to make. Moody was his abuser. Moody was his Ewan. This was the rescue attack for Willa, the aftermath in the grove of trees. He made his decision, the same way Nicole made hers. That’s all there was to it.

She needed to focus now, on those left behind, and so did Dolls. Wynonna was their goal. Rescue Wynonna Earp.

-

Last minute notice or no, everything was in position.

Soldiers on new serums, already bringing their health up from in the depths, in their positions of attack.

The power grid, rigged to Jeremy’s command.

Dolls was making his way, in a hurry, to Wynonna’s room. He would tell her in advance what was happening. The second the rest of the team arrived on the office’s property the jailbreak would begin. Dolls would sneak back to the ground floor, fighting to keep the way clear for Wynonna’s escape.

Their final plan was risky: cut the power to the building. Wynonna uses Peacemaker in the event of needing to stand her ground while Nicole makes her way to the basement through its only access by elevator. She grabs Wynonna while topside is cleared out. They climb up through the elevator shaft’s emergency ladder, make a run for the car, and drive to freedom. On paper it sounded easy. In reality, it was a whole building of armed soldiers against nine people. Four of which were holding enhanced abilities, but _nine people._ Dolls preferred to do this entire operation without breaking into a fight. But there was no possible way to sneak out Wynonna without messing with the power, and the second the power went out guns were drawn and were to bunch around the exit. Slapping them around was the only real option.

He was quick. Entered the room. Stopped Wynonna from her pacing and mumbling, lost in thought. He wanted to move things along, but she spoke faster than he could.

“Wyatt left Purgatory. He’s not with the Assassins anymore.”

Okay, so he’d have to spare a few minutes. “What did you learn?”

Wynonna seemed to grasp his rushed energy, and quickly crossed the room to step closer to him. To keep things between them. “He left without the fourth ring. The longevity ring. Lucado wants to keep searching. But I know where it is!”

“Are you sure? Are you _certain_?”

Wynonna nodded, smiling. “Yeah! Dolls, I think we’ve got this!”

“Good timing.” Dolls lowered his voice, and even with their scarce distance it was difficult to hear. “The rest of the team’s on their way. I killed Moody. We’re getting you out, right now.”

She was leaning in to listen, now backing up at the news. Slack-jawed. “Right now?”

Dolls nodded. “The power will cut. The backup generators will go online and the emergency lights will flash red. That’s your cue.” He made for the door, leaving Wynonna, shocked, in the middle of the room. That rare smile of his known as a commodity to Wynonna appeared. “See you up there, Earp.”

Wynonna smiled in return.

-

Nicole eyed the dark blue cloth between her fingers with awe. Bit hard to examine the way the van was bouncing against the road. Jeremy was behind the wheel, as she and Waverly loaded up their weapons and gear. Dolls supplied bulletproof vests for everyone. Nicole received something extra.

“Rosita wanted to give it to you, you know, before—” Jeremy stopped. “Uh, anyway, Waverly helped me finish it.”

It was a new uniform jacket. A note attached said blue was more Nicole’s color. Scribbled in Rosita’s writing.

The old one was heavy, draped stiffly over her thighs and made running harder, and in general didn’t move with her too well. This new jacket was shorter, stopping at the waist, fit Nicole’s form tighter, and was thin material.

She threw it on and let off a couple test punches. Flexible. There was no hood attached, despite Rosita’s insistence on tradition, on keeping their near-dead ways alive. Once upon a time she, too, didn’t care for a thing as dumb as tradition.

A bandana with the Brotherhood’s logo was supplied to help keep from inhaling the new hallucinogenic bombs. Nicole added Grandpa Gibson’s stetson and stretched her arms, threw a couple more punches. Then she looked to her teammates.

“Oh, this’ll do.”

Jeremy smiled at her from the rear view mirror. “Check the box.” He winked. “I made you a little something.”

Nicole smiled at him. “Chetri, you spoil me.”

Gunbelt. Black, gun-shaped grapple line with a hook hanging out the chamber. Silver pistol, with color-coded clips. Green, red, yellow, blue.

She didn’t know what the hell the colors were for, but she slipped everything on.

Jeremy explained, “I got the grapple shooter from Dolls. BBD has a surplus of supplies. The gun, I’ve been working on. It’s a dart shooter! Green is sleep darts, red for rage, yellow for a drug-like high that’ll keep your target going on and on like a TED Talk video, and blue for fear. The other box has bombs. Same colors. Not bad, right?”

“Jeremy, if this is ‘bad’, I’d love to see your ‘good’. This is amazing. Thank you.”

He smiled, satisfied and so smug. “It’s what I do.”

-

Waverly followed Nicole out of the van. One last rundown of her role in the heist. One last weapons check. Rosita’s hidden blade, new dart shooter, bombs. Gear check. New jacket, thin, Assassins-issued ballistic vest she had stowed away, grapple line shooter. Good. All good. They were only about to run into a complete war zone, in terrible lighting, totally outnumbered, with bullets flying everywhere possible. All good. Good to go.

Waverly talked herself in circles reminding Nicole what to do. Plans, backup plans, other backup plans, so on. Go here, not there. Only go _here_ if _that_ doesn’t work. _Never, ever, go here!_ Nicole steadied her, firm hands on her shoulders.

“I got this.” She gave an assuring, promising smile, so stupidly confident it made Waverly want to smack her and make her take this seriously. “We’ll get her back.”

A wave of tension left Waverly. Then another crashed over. “Please don’t get stabbed again.”

Nicole grinned wider. “I won’t.”

“Please don’t die.”

“I won’t.”

“ _Please_.”

Grin died. Nicole fell serious. It was almost a soothing sight. “I got this.”

Waverly was quiet, possibly unconvinced, by her promise. Nothing ever went the way they wanted. It was almost a comical aspect. She looked Nicole over twice more. Dart gun and clips on hip. Bombs on new bandolier. Blade on wrist. New jacket proper. Bandana tied tight around her neck. Grandpa’s hat, steady. Eyes, the hope lost for so long in them, restored. Lips—

Waverly surged upward and kissed Nicole with everything she had. Every ounce of luck, every pinch of hope. All the loyalty and strength within her.

Love. All the love she held for Nicole, paid right into her.

They broke apart, slowly, and Nicole looked at Waverly with an understanding she was finally beginning to grasp. Then she kissed her again, forever and ever until they had to stop to breathe.

“I adore you, Waverly Earp.”

Nicole spoke with such a tenderness tears threatened to break the both of them. Their foreheads touched, their eyes shut, and they absorbed each other’s strength.

Then Nicole was off, like a soldier for war, and Waverly watched like some sort of civilian partner who could only pray everything would turn up. A tear fell, out of fear, before she reentered the van.

-

Wynonna sprung to her feet. Power was out. Red lights flashing. Time to go. Time to finally get the fuck out of this place.

She retrieved the room key Dolls smuggled her a few visits ago from under her bed’s mattress. And next to it, Peacemaker.

“You and me, buddy.” She stroked the foot-long barrel, the first time in a while finally getting to gaze upon it with her own eyes and not the eyes of her ancestor in a simulation. “Let’s go do some good.”

Wynonna had different plans. To be fair, she always had different plans. It would, no doubt, take Nicole some time to get here. There was something she needed to do for herself. Something she knew Nicole would not help her do.

The guards crowded the elevator. Waiting for trouble. It was the only way in or out, so maybe it was a good plan. No one knew Dolls was helping her escape, so no one thought to place more than two guards outside her door. She dealt with them, easy. Lucado still needed her alive; she could shoot, they couldn’t.

The office was to the left of the Animus’s room. She saw Lucado go into it, after a couple different sessions. All she had to do was retrace the usual route from the Animus from her cell.

Two more measly guards posted. Wynonna wasted two more bullets on them. That left two. Two she fully intended to unload into Jeannie Lucado’s smug face. Wynonna was serving justice, the only way she knew how. The same way she’d been watching her great-great grandfather for months now.

-

The door was electronic, no different from the others in this super secret bunker. Wynonna had no doubts this place housed all sorts of other, illegal projects. Made her feel special. Willa was held topside. She got a place off-grid. Great ego boost.

Lucado was at her desk, armed and ready to shoot the first thing to walk into her hiding space. The slow pace Wynonna chose to approach her, gun in hand, not even bothering to aim back, was having its effect on her. When Wynonna originally entered she softened at the sight. Then her eyes fell on Peacemaker, and she fell back on defensive. Then the nerves kicked in. Was a tough spot, wasn’t it? Can’t shoot Wynonna. She’d lose everything. But Wynonna could shoot her. Forever and ever, only stopping until _she_ decided it was time to stop.

Wynonna relished in the terror in Lucado’s eyes. Fed on the power that came with acting as a grim reaper. The dynamic switch, the prey becoming the ultimate, merciless predator.

“Put the gun down.”

Wynonna didn’t aim Peacemaker. But Lucado obeyed. Maybe she thought it’d buy her some brownie points. Maybe she thought she could talk her way out of this.

“When I get out of here,” Wynonna said, standing at the mahogany desk reflecting red and staring as far into Lucado’s person as she could manage, “it’s going to be my _mission_ to tell the world what you did.”

Lucado was a soldier. She still had some fight in her. “What makes you think you’re getting out of here?”

Wynonna had no plans to take that bait. “You fucked up my family, you asshole.”

“The attack on the homestead wasn’t my idea. It was Moody’s. Take it up with him.”

“Can’t. He’s dead. Blame’s all yours to bear, sister.”

The remaining of Lucado’s confidence fizzled away. Ashen wood in a fire pit.

“Besides, the Animus project was all you, wasn’t it? You were always so happy to bring it up, so I figured—”

“Just do what you came to. Finish it.”

“After all you’ve done, you owe me five fucking minutes. At least.” She didn’t wait for a prompt to go on, because it wasn’t a question. “We pulled the surveillance footage, so don’t lie. I saw you. I saw you take in a stolen, _fourteen-year-old girl_ and work her for _fifteen years_ until she _died from exhaustion._ You worked her to death! You had to resuscitate her six _fucking_ times before that! You stuck her in that awful machine so many times she didn’t know up from down! She didn’t know her own name! How the hell do you live with yourself?”

“I did it for the best of mankin—”

“Spare me that higher purpose shit, Lucado. You did it because you’re greedy. You wanted power. You want to control people, because you think that’s what’s best for them.”

“I don’t care about Templar philosophy bullshit.” Lucado was back on her feet. Confidence recharged. “I care about Greg.”

“Who the hell’s Greg?”

“My husband.”

“What, is he frozen in a closet somewhere here? Did he leave you for your sister or some shit?”

“He died. In combat. Kandahar. You can ask Xavier Dolls all about it. He happily left him to die. He was just fine saving Eliza Shapiro, but—”

“I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“There is a resurrection ring. I need it.”

Something switched in Lucado’s head. The gears turned, so unsubtle, Wynonna’s grip on Peacemaker tightened.

“You can help me, Wynonna. We can get that ring. I can bring back Greg, and you can bring back Willa! We can both have what we—”

Peacemaker raised. Wynonna shook her head. Lucado froze. Quit, even. “There’s only one way you’re seeing Greg again.” She pulled back the hammer, and Peacemaker loyally responded. “Or maybe not. Maybe torturing people for your own gain will send you right on down to Hell.”

Lucado laughed. One last, small victory. “Then I guess we will be seeing more of each other, someday.”

Like that was supposed to phase her. The only thing in the world Wynonna found scary was the fact her baby sister was above ground right now, stuck in the middle of a battlefield. “Save me a space for then.”

“You really think the Assassins are—”

“That’s my business.” Too far now to be unconvinced. “Get over it, Lucado. You’ve lost.” The gun crossed the desk, inches from Lucado’s face. “Make your peace.”

The trigger, back, then forth. The hammer returned to its resting place. There was the exploding of the bullet from the chamber, journeying the length of the barrel before meeting its one true purpose through Lucado’s skull. Its one true purpose to steal a life guilty of doing the same.

Jeannie Lucado fell back into her chair, dead. Wynonna Earp looked down on her, blank except for the knowledge and satisfaction her family’s safety was in stone. No more Animus, for any of them. For the first time in her life, she won.

The door of the office buzzed before it opened, and buzzed once again when it was closed, the lock engaging automatically. Wynonna was numb to the newcomer. Too busy eyeing the served revenge in front of her. No, justice. This was justice.

“You killed her.”

Didn’t sound surprised, or even the least bit upset. The voice of the newcomer was familiar, so Wynonna turned to them with her guard down. And quirked her brow.

“Nice hat.”

Nicole Haught pulled down the bandana covering the lower part of her face. “You okay?” Her eyes fell on Lucado’s corpse, then back on Wynonna.

“Probably better than you. How’s the shoulder?”

Eyes back on Lucado, then back on Peacemaker. “It’s fine.”

“Would you stop looking at Lucado? She’s dead, I promise you.”

Nicole didn’t say anything. She just stared. It was infuriating.

“Don’t give me the moral high ground bullshit, Haught. I did this for Willa. A life for a life. Don’t tell me you weren’t going to kill Moody.”

“I don’t think I would’ve. I would’ve let him rot.”

“She’s dead, that’s as ‘rotty’ as she’ll ever be!”

“Let’s get out of here.”

Wynonna yanked her by the arm, stopping her from leaving the room. “If you’re mad, say it. All this time I’ve been freaking out about you and the fact you got stabbed and couldn’t go to a hospital, and now we’re all finally back together and you’re pissed?”

“I’m not mad! I just thought different of you.”

“So you’re disappointed?”

“Wynonna, we can’t do this right now.”

“Just answer the question and we can go.”

Damn stubborn Earps. Nicole sighed, “I really thought you were going to let her go.”

“I heard you killed fourteen people.”

Damn gossiping Dolls! “I did that for Waverly.”

“I did _this_ for Waverly. And Willa.” Wynonna paused. “And, actually, there’s something else I want to do.”

Nicole stepped back and yanked the bandana back over her face. “If you kiss me, I swear to God, Wynonna—”

Wynonna crossed the room, for an open safe she began to rummage through. “Wrong Earp. Don’t think I can’t see you and my sister, making googly eyes.” She turned around. “If you kiss her, I’ll _kill you.”_

Nicole thanked all available gods Wynonna turned around again, because she went absolutely _pale._

-

“They’ll probably just rebuild it, but you can never be too careful.”

Nicole looked at Wynonna, impatient. Because, frankly, they were in the middle of a friggin’ war zone. “I guess.”

Wynonna pulled the pin on the grenade in her hand, kicked open the door to the Animus’s room, threw the explosive, and sprinted down the hall. Nicole following, cursing.

Behind them, Black Badge’s Animus was caught in the explosion. Destroyed, forever. And just down the hall, the last person to ever use it stared in a glorious joy.

She took a hold of the communication device Nicole handed her and phoned in to Jeremy: “Hey, Alexa, play us ‘Wanted Dead or Alive’ by Bon Jovi.”

And for whatever reason, Jeremy complied and played the damn song.

Watching the machine responsible for all her frustrations in the last two months, and in her life in general, with a sweet guitar line playing in the background was the most _satisfying_ thing in Wynonna’s life.

“Jeremy, turn the music off! I can’t hear a damn thing.”

Dolls, and _just_ as the solo was ending.

“I’m trying to have a moment here, Xavier. Can’t you—”

Dolls wasn’t so generous. Nicole took it as a cue to finally drag Wynonna out of the basement and back onto the ground floor. The fact soldiers were pouring in to investigate the explosion helped.

“Haught,” Dolls asked, “what’s your status?”

“We’ll be at the rendezvous, five minutes tops.”

“Make it three. You two are taking a lot longer than we discussed.”

“Yep, sorry about that.”

“Three minutes!”

Wynonna nudged Nicole, once they finally reached the elevator shaft.

“Please ask him about his goldfish, Flopsy, when we’re done. You will not _believe_ that story.”

Nicole laughed, so hard she had to stop climbing. “Missed you, Earp.”

Whether or not she made terrible decisions.

-

There was no time for a big reuniting. No big, dramatic scene, where the battle freezes for a convenient, super cinematic hug, the camera spinning around and around in a dizzying frenzy. This was war. There were guns. They had to go. Waverly knew that. She gladly settled with the simplicity of seeing her sister, alive, next to her, as they ran to escape the scene to Jeremy, outside in the van. The soldiers would follow behind, after a few minutes. For now they stayed in the building, distracting Black Badge grunts.

Before they left, Jeremy emailed an old contact of Dolls’s. A reporter. There was no risk in handing over information anymore, no fear it’d somehow lead Black Badge directly to them. He sent everything he had. The evidence of Willa’s mistreatment, the files on the super soldiers—everything. Wynonna found her one goal handled; the world would, indeed, know.

The van stopped in a busy restaurant’s parking lot, cloaked in a sea of cars and the dark of night. The super soldiers were now leaving Black Badge, and wanted to be certain if they were chased none of it would lead to the rest of the team. Eyes in the van stopped peeking out every available window in anxious worry and instead sat back and took a long breath. The Earp sisters formally reunited in the longest hug known to man.

Then it was all business.

“When Wyatt was poisoned, I felt like I was dying, too.” Wynonna, explaining the final sequences she’d lived. “They had to pull me and everything.”

“That’s terrible,” Waverly exhaled. She sat close to her sister, the two sharing a blanket and a drink.

“Thankfully it’s all over and you never have to get into that thing again,” Nicole agreed. She paused. “Right? You know where the last ring is?”

Wynonna’s expression was not reassuring. Luckily she was pulling a sour face for a different reason they would’ve expected.

“Yeah, I know where the stupid thing is.” She didn’t sound particularly excited. She sounded more along the lines of disappointed. Waverly motioned her to go on, after she took a long break. “Turns out I knew where the stupid thing was the whole time.” She laughed, the type filled with no humor. “We didn’t need the Animus at all, really—already had the resurrection ring, Mama told us where the Widows’ were, and I knew where the longevity one was. Everything Willa did was for nothing.”

Her eyes raised from the ground, scanning her fellow teammates sitting with her in the vehicle. She didn’t answer the question, not right away. First she finished explaining what went on with Wyatt. What went on between Wyatt and Doc.

Finishing, “The thing is, Wyatt never found the longevity ring, just like he never found Doc. Because Doc is here, in Purgatory, and he’s alive.”

No one was moved by the revelation. Didn’t really mean much. Wasn’t a definitive answer. Jeremy asked, “Have you met him or something?”

“Technically.” Still a little cryptic. “When we were kids, Willa and I used to go away from home. Far away from home, to this old well. And we _swore_ we heard someone down there. We never actually _saw_ them, and we could never make out what it was they were saying. We figured typical weird Purgatory shit and bailed. Creepy voice in the middle of a prairie? In a town called ‘Purgatory’? Horror movie 101: freakin’ run.”

“And you think it was Doc Holliday?” Waverly asked. Her disbelief was a bit disheartening. “What would he be doing down a well?”

“My guess is he tried to give it back to Constance. Probably tried to call off their deal to make things right with Wyatt.”

“And then Constance got super mad and threw him down a well?” Jeremy guessed. Wynonna nodded. Still, wasn’t convincing anyone. Not really much evidence to go on.

“What if he’s not down there?” Nicole asked. “Then what?”

“I have a good gut feeling, don’t I? Said so yourself.”

Nicole was not moved. “Not good enough to bet everything on.”

Wynonna just smirked. “Have a little faith, Haught.”

“Okay,” Nicole stood and walked for the driver’s seat, “to the creepy old well we go, then.”

The van hummed back to life, and they were off. Back to the Earp homestead. Back to the McCready ranch, to grab their things. For Wynonna, it was a nerve-wracking thing, the idea of seeing Gus after all this time. Last time she saw Gus was before she was taken. Before all this Assassins-Templar stuff. Back when she was still wandering Europe, aimlessly. Now she had a team. A goal. A purpose. She did quite a few impossible feats since then, feats beyond finding friends that could actually stand Wynonna Earp more reasons other than _oh, she’s hot._ She was different now. Maybe not a better person, but a changed one. Someone with something to offer, and something to be proud of.

-

They considered their options and decided, for now, it was best to leave Doc Holliday dangling a day longer. For the sake of making completely sure Black Badge was off their backs. Otherwise they were handing over the full set and losing without return this time. And honestly, if Doc Holliday really had been alive all this time, for over a century now, what was one more day?

For now they were laying low. Then, when things were all clear, resituating the homestead. Move in the few items they had back from Gus’s, and set a place aside for Doc. No doubt the man was going to be disoriented and likely, a man of his temper, ready to explode in violent fear. Taking down a super secret government organization with a pea-sized team? Yeah sure, pretty easy. Billion comics on that. Taking down the old west’s fastest draw? Pass. Hard pass. They’d all be dead before they could blink. Not like full sets of riot gear was easy to grab.

The time spent driving back to the McCready ranch was spent on catching Wynonna up on the resurrection ring. (As well as her threatening the thing several times to leave her sister the way it found her.) The information on Julian, the things Waverly learned about her birth father.

It all brought something new to Wynonna’s attention: they had a tiny amount of information on Constance Clootie. The woman who had her own plan in the shadows. The woman Clootie cursed, in his letter, for being a “rogue”. Was that a bad thing?

-

When Gus opened the door and stopped talking mid-sentence, about how Waverly and team had left in such a hurry, Wynonna felt her nerves buzz all over like something she wished she could’ve been spraying away with a can of Raid. But she kept a neutral face. She’d sooner die and go straight to Hell than imply to Gus Gibson she was nervous to see her.

Luckily, Aunt Gus was just as neutral.

“Wynonna,” she said. Happy to see her, relieved to see her, upset to see her, who knew?

“Gus.” Terrified on the inside. Calm on the outside. She’d like to see a Hollywood actor do _that._

“So you are okay, then. Wish you would’ve told me before I set the table for dinner.”

“Wish I thought of it, too.”

Nicole and Jeremy eyed one another. Because they weren’t really quite sure what was happening. The growing smile on Waverly’s face was somewhat telling. This was going . . . well? Had to be; nobody’d gotten shot or slapped yet.

“You gonna have the salad, or are you gonna pass it to Waverly when I’m not lookin’? I see you’ve passed that trend on to Nicole.”

Nicole almost passed out.

“No greens, Gus. Think I’m done growing. Like, forever.”

“Okay.” Gus nodded. “Okay, good.” She eyed the rest of the team, standing around like shrubs. “Well come in, then. If you want to stand out there and freeze, I’ll gladly save a few and turn the heat off.”

She patted Wynonna’s shoulder once, before slipping back inside, and Wynonna grinned from ear to ear. Went a million times better than she expected, for sure.

Meanwhile Nicole was beyond confused. Were all families like this?

Though, as the evening went on, and the longer Wynonna and Gus shared their weird and passive exchanges, Nicole found herself distracted with something else. The same something she knew, in a cosmic sense, had been pulling her along from the start.

-

_November 5, 2016_

The only thing to do when forced a stack of plates first thing in the morning? Complain.

“What the hell is this? Don’t you have a dishwasher? You know, that thing wasting away right under the counter there?”

“Set the table, Wynonna.”

One minute she was asleep on the couch, the next minute Gus was telling her to get up for the day—at _nine_ in the _freakin’ morning_ on a _Saturday_ —and help her. Well, she didn’t ask for help with words, exactly. She “asked” by shoving a stack of plates into Wynonna’s arms. The stack Wynonna, for some reason, actually got to work setting.

“Why am I setting the table? You know that’s only a thing they do on TV, right? People don’t actually set the table and sit around like they’re having a meeting. They grab a plate and scramble on over to the couch. You old ladies, you watch too much TV.”

“Stop fussin’. Jeez, you’re like a windup toy that won’t slow down.”

“And you’re like a morning person who gets up too early.” Wynonna dropped the last plate in a blank celebration, watching it clatter against the wood table until it settled. Gus, glaring at her as she placed cups and utensils. “Is that all, or are we painting the roof next?”

“Check that attitude, girl.” Only Gus Gibson could manage to be scarier than an evil, ruthless corporation. “Try not to be this fun all morning, either. Go upstairs and get your sister.”

Wynonna stomped dramatically all the way up the stairs, no different than a teenager or a little kid. Mumbling, “Maybe I don’t want to get my stupid sister.”

She was surprised to find nothing in Waverly’s room.

“Where is my stupid sister?”

Sheets weren’t messed up. Window wasn’t forced or broken or cracked or even the tiniest bit dusty. Everything in its place. She could’ve sworn Waverly and Nicole—

“No you didn’t, you redheaded asshole!”

-

Waverly winced when Nicole twitched. She was trying to be sneaky, damn it!

She gently pushed aside the quilt from where it fell on Nicole’s face, on this makeshift bed they made out of what Gus referred to as the “good” hay bales, the ones Nicole’s new workout regime saved from the cold of winter.

Everything last night started innocently enough. Snuck out to have a stargaze. Then steal the good drinks in celebration of BBD’s death day. Never really got to drinking, though, on account of things quickly making a swerve into _sin._

Their first time, under the moonlight—Nicole Haught was an actual book character.

Somewhat gracefully, totally romantically, Waverly hovered over Nicole’s face and planted a kiss to her forehead. Didn’t flinch. So the rom com scene kept playing and Waverly kissed her temple. No movement. Curious; Nicole was generally a light sleeper. (Waverly loved that she knew that.)

She trailed the kisses down. Cheek, jaw, nose, chin. Not a _single_ motion. Waverly threw caution out and kissed her on the lips, slightly worried she’d finally done the deed with the biggest crush of her life and the stupid sexy idiot died on her. Nicole’s eyes didn’t open. But her lips fought a smile. Waverly pushed her and rolled back to her side.

“Okay, now I know you’re faking.”

Nicole’s smile grew. “I don’t have to fake.” She peeked one eye open at Waverly, who smiled wickedly.

“Neither did I.”

Truly, _dear God in heaven_ , Nicole was talented in that department. Walking. Book. Character.

They shared a knowing laugh until Nicole kissed her. Then she just held Waverly, and for once Waverly felt the sensation of being held and not handled. The feeling, this odd, new, exciting feeling, was worth taking as far as it could go; she soaked it in as a flower with morning sunshine.

Then she sighed all of a sudden, her face buried against Nicole’s neck. “I cannot believe we waited a whole two months to do this.”

“I know. No wonder I was so mad all the time.”

Waverly comfortably draped herself over Nicole, and stared deep enough into her eyes she was sure she’d learn all the universe’s secrets. “Worth it, though.”

Nicole smiled, cheeks threatening to rip right off with the length they stretched. “Worth it.”

They kissed again, and Nicole swore she was a spirit in heaven, because there was simply no possible way this was a real thing that was happening. There was simply no possible way she was here, with a woman she liked more than anything in the world, riding the high of a victory against Black Badge, her future bright and open and endless opportunities waiting for her to grasp. There was simply no possible way she—they—survived everything and had the perfect opportunity to lay here, together, content and relaxed and not needing to rush into the next life-or-death emergency.

No wonder they were so eager to get together last night. Really, truly, getting to know one another in the most special, intimate, magical way possible.

And now, against all odds, Nicole was alive, here with this woman, listening to her happy scheme to hijack breakfast and make all the vegan pancakes she could before her aunt could notice. Trying to get Nicole on board, because there was _nothing_ better in the world than vegan pancakes.

Nicole hadn’t even tried them yet and she was already crazy over them. Rushing to her feet and tossing back on the clothes she lost last night to the deepest pleasure of her life. “We better get over there fast, then. You know Gus is an early riser.”

Waverly just stared, in awe. Because no way in hell was anybody ever this excited over _vegan pancakes._

Unfortunately, they didn’t make it far. They made it out the barn door, and stared in horror at the sight of Wynonna, two steps away and clearly already piecing everything together. She was mid-step, frozen in frame no different from a paused cartoon, her pointed eyes pointing right at Nicole with hellfire blazing in them.

“Oh god, this is how I die.” Nicole was wide-eyed, a deer in the headlights of the car she was about to be hit by.

Wynonna didn’t move, like she was malfunctioning. Then she took the remaining steps to close the distance between them, Nicole ready to run and Waverly ready for the possibility of having to fight her own sister.

“Rayleigh Haught,” Wynonna said, “you just broke the bro code. Know what the penalty is for that?”

Nicole blinked. “Five dollar fine?”

Wynonna shook her head. So Nicole sprinted, full speed.

-

“You two are idiotic.”

Waverly dragged her idiot sister and idiot maybe-kinda-who-knows-are-they-even-at-labels-yet girlfriend through the house and dumped them at the seats of the dining table. Mud and snow plaguing their clothes. Her plot to make a healthy breakfast, destroyed.

“I can’t believe you _actually_ put snow in my pants, you asshole,” Nicole grumbled. Wynonna held a steady glare.

“I can’t believe you did my sister, you-you horny . . . wench!”

“It was consensual!”

“Horny wench!”

“No shoutin’ at my table,” Gus interjected. She stopped by to drop off a jug of orange juice before returning for the kitchen.

Wynonna mimed slitting Nicole’s throat. Nicole flipped her off. Waverly threatened them both to knock it off.

“I don’t see why I can’t kill Haught,” Wynonna mumbled on anyway. “You can just revive her, right? What’s the harm?”

Gus returned, this time with a serving of eggs and a bowl of strawberries. “No killin’ at my table, either.”

“Wish there was a no boning rule, too.”

“Wynonna!”

-

Jeremy was more than delighted to have slept through whatever it was that was happening. His initial guess for the weirdness between Wynonna and Nicole was Nicole stole her bourbon or something. Then he pieced it together. And promptly gave Waverly a fist bump on the side.

Later in the morning, when Dolls came from the Earp homestead to grab them, Nicole swore she saw him and Jeremy exchanging money. Didn’t think anything of it at first. Then she saw Wynonna smack Dolls’s arm, and she realized her asshole teammates were betting on her sex life.

They packed the van with what little was transferred over to the ranch and readied to head out. No danger was posed at the Earp homestead, super soldiers made extra sure of it. Meaning it was time to get back to work. Doc Holliday was still out there, and so was the last ring. Just one last hoop, certainly the easiest of them all.

But there was a small delay: Gus pulled Wynonna aside, for what Wynonna assumed was one last lecture for the road. Why she was dumb enough to involve Waverly in all this, and all the things along those lines.

“I’m really proud of you, Wynonna.”

Alright, maybe not.

“Aunt Gus,” Wynonna said in disbelief, “are you having a stroke? Did something possess you? Is someone—”

“Damn it, girl, would you listen, please? Don’t make this harder than it is.”

Wynonna placed her hands in surrender, motioning Gus to go on.

“I’ve been hard on you. I’ve been unfair.”

“I’ll sa—sorry.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s goin’ on here. I don’t know what your sister’s gotten herself involved in, and I don’t know what the hell it is you’ve been doin’ or what you’re about to do. But I know it’s good. I can feel it, in my gut. I know I ought to be apologizin’ to you. The whole town, too.”

“Gus, you don’t need to—”

“Yes I do. I also need to say thank you. I don’t know what you did, Wynonna, but I know it was for everyone. I know you’ve saved us all, somehow, from somethin’ wrong. Thank you.”

“Gus—”

“You’re more than a sorry, misunderstood girl, and I’m sorry I could never see that before. I’m sorry you’ve spent all this time thinkin’ the world’s against you when it should be _with_ you. I should’ve—”

“No. You did—”

“I should’ve. You’re a god damn _hero_ , kiddo, and I’m sorry I never treated you like one. Now, go on, hero, go do some savin’.”

Wynonna was furious to know she managed to get through a living hell under Black Badge’s watch and not feel a single need to cry. Because here Gus was, making her sob like an infant. Telling her, despite her own personal beliefs towards herself, build up over years and years, there’s never been anything wrong with her.

-

All things considered, Eliza Shapiro was happy to be working with her fellow soldiers again. Lately they’d been leading their own squads solo, around the Ghost River Triangle in lesser-suspected sites. It was clear these people had a history no outsider could try to understand. They’d been through hell together, from the second they entered Black Badge’s labs as children to now, finally crushing their abusers and living instead of counting down the days.

Watching them navigate was entertaining. It was like they were telepathically connected.

They did one last sweep of the land, just when the team arrived from the McCready ranch. Black Badge was nowhere in sight. It was hard to believe. They were _actually_ gone. Gone! Defeated! Having their name dragged through the mud on TV! (Jeremy rightfully got all the praise on that one.)

Stepping back onto Earp land was weird. No, not weird. Not strange, either. It was sort of similar to getting punched in the gut. One second Wynonna was good and fine and totally not super emotional about the aunt she thought hated her telling her she was proud and loved her, and the next she was wondering what the hell was happening.

She was back home, was what was happening. The place she thought she’d never see again. On account of the attack by cloaked mystery people who disappeared in poofs of smoke and shooting her father dead and everybody thinking she was crazy. And the trauma, _oh,_ the trauma!

But, in true Wynonna fashion, she pushed all that nonsense down and pressed on. She could think and feel when she was dead. Though, something about being surrounded by her sister and her 4.2 star team was comforting. For once she felt, hey, maybe things will go well. Not like they’d just set fire to the hornet’s nest and left hoping and praying the stupid thing just died on its own, right? Sure!

Still, being inside and standing around the kitchen they used to cook and eat in was the one thing she counted on never experiencing again. Kinda threw her game off. That Yorkie guy looked around the place, smiled at the roof, and said something about grass in the sky. It was possible he was on some _grass_ of his own.

“So what’s next?” Ramon Quinn, a guy Wynonna was beginning to piece together was more down to business and no-nonsense than Dolls. Had to get it from somewhere.

“We want to help,” Eliza Shapiro, the woman Dolls apparently killed a guy to save, clarified. “Also, we’re unemployed now and looking for work.” Yeah, she and Wynonna were going to get along nicely.

Everybody, Wynonna included, looked to Nicole. And Nicole didn’t look like she expected it in the slightest. She was the last Assassin here; who else were they supposed to look to? This was still an Assassins mission.

“Um, w-well,” she stammered, most certainly unsure, “there’s Doc.”

It was more a question than a statement. Quinn was unhappy with it. “What then? By our understanding, it’ll be an easy job.”

Dolls swooped in just in time to make the perfect save. “Mentor Haught’s main focus is the operations in the Ghost River Triangle.”

Wynonna looked at Nicole, who went absolutely blank at the realization, yes, she was _Mentor_ Haught. It was also a lucky thing Dolls kept going, and talked up this little team like they were a strong front against all that was evil in the universe and not a tiny group of stragglers who somehow managed to make it this far based on nothing but dumb luck and a whole crap load of caffeine.

“Unfortunately she—we have been out of touch with the other Assassins around the world. The rings we’re after aren’t necessarily unique; there are other artifacts with their own supernatural capabilities and other Templar groups trying to grab them. Refer to them as ‘Pieces of Eden’. The movement in Purgatory was thanks to a larger sum of information. Chetri got this from Moody’s personal emails.”

Spoken and presented with the formality of a boardroom meeting in a fancy office with a fancy powerpoint.

Quinn, being the head board member they were out to impress, leaned forward in his seat. “We can cover international, see what’s going on over there. When you finish up here we can regroup and make a plan.”

“Excellent,” Dolls agreed.

“Do you have the locations? It’s best to start as soon as possible.”

Jeremy presented that information, because, again, Nicole had no idea. He also supplied them with how to make their medications. Old war connections could help them get the ingredients they needed. Then travel plans were made. To make this thing international. And here they thought the goings on here alone was overwhelming.

But there was no telling what conditions the other Brotherhoods around the world were in. Who knew, maybe they’d find a surprise army and wrap this all up before dinnertime.

-

They saw the soldiers off, unsure how to thank them a million times the short trek from the house to the cars parked out front. They didn’t have to stay. They could’ve left, pursued other goals and other dreams now that their lives were guaranteed to continue past this year, but they didn’t. No one needed to beg them, either. They just, simply, stayed. They just wanted to help.

Wynonna was extremely grateful Dolls wasn’t leaving, either. He insisted he wanted to see things through here in Purgatory. Something told her he’d want to see the aftermath and the aftermath of the aftermath, too. Purgatory was a shit awful town, but it had a way of keeping the right people here. The people who were tied by some otherworldly force, to be here.

“Don’t tell me you’re so afraid of flying you’d rather stay here, in this giant dumpster of a town.” Of course she wasn’t going to admit Dolls staying was the single greatest news she’d received all week. Well, second. The fact they were all still alive was a winner. Actually, third—her sister finally found someone Wynonna personally didn’t want to drown. That is, when said someone kept her hands to herself.

“Where else will I meet a town loon ranting about cursed men who rise from the depths of Hell?”

“Ah, so you’ve met Stupid Carl. Or maybe you’re staying because you don’t believe in us? You know we’ve kicked _your_ ass several times, right?”

Dolls’s smile, the one always summoned by the power of Wynonna Earp, surfaced. “I remember winning, once.”

“Yeah, but then you gave in and joined us. So, lose. You lost.”

The look in Dolls’s eyes told Wynonna he felt nothing like a loser, however.

“So,” Wynonna said again, “you killed Moody, huh? He owe you money, or something?”

Smile faded, gradually. “Let’s say he does a very good job at freaking people out.”

“Don’t have to tell me. I met the guy like three times and I still can’t sleep right.”

“I heard you killed Lucado. Did she owe _you_ money?”

“Oh, she owed me a lot of things.” She looked at him again, eyes meeting under the morning light. “She said you let her husband die. That’s not true, is it? Is this your super-lizard origin story?”

Dolls shook his head, amused. “No, nothing like that. There was an attack, total surprise. It was either Eliza or Greg. Greg told me to leave him. He was bleeding out anyway; we all would’ve died if I tried to save them both. Lucado’s hated me ever since.”

“Shit, that’s tough.”

“All these enhancements, and I couldn’t save him.”

“I’m sorry. But, hey, at least you saved one instead of none, right?”

That probably wasn’t helpful. But Dolls nodded anyway. Then she saw something switch in him. “Speaking of tough calls, we need to discuss something. It’s not that I don’t trust you—“

“Oh, boy.”

“I know it’s tempting, but I need to know you aren’t planning to use the resurrection ring. I need to know none of you are.”

“To do what, bring back our Grandpa Mason? That guy was weird. I heard he yelled at a bird once! Like, _yelled._ Scolded. A freakin’ bird.”

“I’m talking about Willa.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

“Wynonna, you can’t—”

“No, I mean _that’s not going to happen_ ; nobody’s getting raised up Stupid Carl style. Have a little faith, you jerk!”

Dolls blinked. Embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I’m just making—”

“Well, don’t worry about it. It wouldn’t be right. I’m not even sure she’d be the same Willa. After all the shit she went through, I just want her to rest. Play with puppies in heaven and all that. Reminds me, though, I need to go visit her. After we get Doc.”

Back to business. “Yeah, tell me about Holliday. What should we expect?”

-

A similar exchange to Dolls and Wynonna was happening behind them, between Nicole and Waverly. Casual, friendly, serious.

They stood on the porch, Calamity Jane sulking somewhere behind them, sad about no longer being around Gus and the woman’s many, many treats.

At first it was nothing. They silently watched total strangers who also happened to be their greatest additions leaving for other business, to further aid the cause they’d joined all but ten seconds ago. Minds wandered. What was going on with the other Assassins? Were they beating odds like this, too? Were their leads even real? Hell, were they even _alive?_

What was next, for them? What was next for Nicole Haught and Waverly Earp?

Not an easy thing to jump into, asking someone if they wanted to chase the normal life they’d craved since childhood or if they’d rather stay in the line of work they hated and stick around with people they’d met just two months ago. If Waverly were in her position, she would’ve ditched Purgatory a long time ago. Finally, a reason to leave this place.

Or maybe not. Because if Waverly were in Nicole’s position, Nicole would be in hers. Staying because there was really nowhere else for her to go. Nicole was something worth staying for.

Was Waverly?

“So, Mentor Haught, huh?”

The question knocked Nicole out from whatever was keeping her quiet. Her brow raised in disbelief, her head shaking with a silent humor. She continued to look ahead, leaning on the bannister.

“Mentor Haught,” she repeated. Then she shook her head more and started laughing to herself. “I guess Ewan gets what he wanted. I was supposed to raise the ‘ultimate’ generation of Assassins, and here I am, doing it.” Despite all her efforts of resistance. Stupid universe.

“Gotta love irony.”

“I guess.” Nicole nodded to herself, deciding on something. “We’ll be kinder. Kill as a last resort. ‘Zero tolerance tyranny’ policy.”

Waverly couldn’t fight the grin on her face. “Sounds like you’ll be staying.”

She was genuinely confused. Like she forgot her grand plan to get the hell out of here. “What do you mean?”

Was it worth bringing up, or was it better to be selfish? No, that’d be wrong. Besides, honesty and talking things over was sort of their thing. Waverly’s favorite thing ever, actually. “Black Badge is done. You’re free to go, right?”

“Free to . . .” It hit Nicole. Suddenly, by the expression on her face. This was a little strange. Did she actually _forget_ ? The selfish part of Waverly wanted to jump up and down. She _forgot!_

In truth, to Nicole, that fresh start away from Purgatory and the life she knew wasn’t such a priority anymore, or hardly a thought at all. Every thought she had about the future was a picture of the Earp homestead. Her team. Waverly. Didn’t really matter what they were doing. Just that they were all together.

It was a task not to shrug and admit _Yeah, fuck that, I’m pursuing a life with people I’ve known for two months now purely on a gut feeling and the fact I’ve lacked a familial figure in my life basically since the day I was born, save for an on-off girlfriend I simultaneously loved and hated and a close friend I also simultaneously loved and hated._ (But love-hate was a familial trait, wasn’t it?)

What she salvaged was: “Well, the mission’s not technically done, right? I’m still on the Brotherhood’s payroll. And Rosita would want me to see things through.”

“Right,” Waverly agreed. “It would be wrong to leave things unfinished.”

“Exactly. So I’ll stick around. Just until we’re done.”

“Yeah, just until we’re done.”

What a dumb promise she fully intended to break.

Fuck it.

Nicole pulled Waverly in for a kiss. The long, slow type, one that allowed her to fully take in the woman in her arms. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered on Waverly’s lips. “Why even lie? I don’t _want_ to go anywhere. I _need_ to be here.”

They separated, but stayed close quarters. Stepping apart seemed like a counterpoint. “You don’t have to. We’ve got this under control.”

“Trying to send me off? What, you only wanted me for a one-night stand?”

It was a nervous jest in good faith, but Waverly still went pale. “N-no, I—You wanted a fresh start. All your life. I’ll understand if you want to go. Even if it’s for a little bit.”

“You guys are my fresh start. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

“But do you really want to keep doing this? You hate being an Assassin.”

“I’m confident things are going to be different now.”

“God, you’re so cocky.”

“Maybe. And maybe I won’t want to keep doing this. Maybe I can’t lead, can’t make the big game plans. But that doesn’t change anything. I still want to stay here. I still want to be with all of you. _You guys_ are my Brotherhood.”

“God, you’re so sweet.”

Nicole smirked, as annoyingly confident as ever. “I know.”

“For the record, you did great with Wynonna.”

“I think everything she learned, she learned on her own.”

Speak of the devil, Wynonna approached the pair where they stood. The cat jumped up to greet her. Or make sure she wasn’t corrupted by the evil she seemed to think all men carried.

“Don’t kiss my sister, pervert.”

Yep, Nicole was staying, even with that around.

Behind Wynonna, Dolls was running inside to grab both Jeremy and the keys to Nicole’s van. They mumbled about Doc Holliday on the way back outside.

“It’s time?” Nicole asked, and Wynonna nodded, serious again.

“Time to wrap this all up. Just got to convince an undead historical figure to give up the magical ring that wards off his miserable, painful disease that killed him once already. Piece of cake!”

Waverly shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the hardest thing we’ve done.” She grinned, suddenly. “I’m going to ask him _so_ many questions.”

“Oh great, she’s gonna scare him off.”

-

There was nothing but free land untouched by man, and horses, free the same and loyal to no one. The afternoon sun did its best to ward of last night’s light snow, white seeping into golden grass. It was dead silent, but for the sound of a dying engine. It was calm, in a way almost eerie.

“Was there a surplus of water back then?” Dolls asked, his eyes raking over the well where it stood in all its loneliness. “There isn’t a single trace of life here. Near a water source.”

“I’m more concerned with the idea Doc Holliday is alive, at the bottom of a well, and Wynonna just happened to guess that,” Jeremy mumbled. Wynonna heard him.

“Have a little faith, Chetri. For the record, there _was_ a house here but Wyatt blew it up trying to take out a group of outlaws. Guess someone cleaned up the crap he left behind. Guy really liked blowing shit up.”

“Not like they had TV back then,” Nicole said.

“What _does_ make you so sure Doc Holliday is here?” Dolls asked. Again, Wynonna sighed at the lack of faith her super, Templar-crushin’ team held for her.

She answered, “I never forgot the voice we heard. It sounds identical to Doc’s.”

“Sure,” Jeremy argued, “but time can distort things. Maybe you just _want_ it to sound like him.”

“Keep that up and I’ll distort _you_. Look, it isn’t like we have any other clues. Give me a break, man.”

Nicole emerged from her supermarket of a van with a rope, hopefully the right length, which she handed off to Wynonna. “She’s got a strong gut feeling. Trust it.”

“Also, my hand is vibrating and pulling me.”

Waverly, from where she was standing off to the side. Her left hand was indeed vibrating, and her right was trying to hold it down from how it tried to tug her along. How was it a stupid ring was so strong? And so, so stupid?

“Vibrating hand?” Wynonna smiled. “Nice.”

Nobody blamed Nicole for shoving her, at that comment, as she rushed over to Waverly. “Who’s the pervert now?”

Wynonna frowned. “Still you!”

“Throw the rope down, you hypocrite!”

“Fine! Shit!”

Nicole and Jeremy stood in front of Waverly, guardians against the ring’s need to reunite with its friend. At least they knew this wasn’t just a guess anymore. Dolls helped Wynonna tie one end of the rope to one of two hitching posts, the one that wasn’t split down the middle, not as able as the other to stand the test of time. Hopefully it was as strong as it looked.

There were a couple test tugs of the thing before it was tossed down. Wynonna and Dolls stayed near the post, in case the weight of their new buddy was heavy enough to snap it in half.

The plain fell silent again, but for the rustling and crunching of dead grass underneath Waverly’s shifting feet. Ring was like a dog at a gate. Didn’t know what exactly it was looking for, but knew there was something _there_ and just _needed_ to jump up and down and yell about it.

Just as they were about to call it, the rope twitched.

Pulled. Stopped. Pulled. Stopped. Pulled, stopped, until a head poked itself out of the well. A head with a hat Wynonna had seen before with someone else’s eyes.

“That’s him,” Wynonna said between her team.

A skinny man ascended. His hair and the long beard on his face cut uneven, his forehead flushed with dirt, his boots sopping wet. The second his toes met the earth, the resurrection ring pulled Waverly a full step forward before Nicole and Jeremy could grab her. So he got freaked out and pulled his guns at the speed of a superhuman.

A gun was pointing at Waverly, so Wynonna unsheathed hers with a quickness of her own.

“Constance Clootie!” the man said, practically proving his identity. “Where is Constance Clootie? Take me to her! Now!”

What a fine hello.

Wynonna held Peacemaker as steady as Doc held his own pair. “Easy, bitch,” she said, and Dolls groaned at her insensitivity to a disoriented, scared person. “Put those down.”

It didn’t look like he was listening. His hands did lower, not to comply but to closer examine the gun being aimed at him. He knew that pearl handle. He knew that long barrel. But he did not know the person holding it. His pistols returned to their full height.

“Why have you stolen the gun of Wyatt Earp? Huh? Answer me, woman!”

“Calm down, dude. It’s a family heirloom.”

Pistols lowered again, only slightly. “Family heirloom? You . . . are an Earp?” Raised again. “Do not lie to Doc Holliday.”

“Do not speak in third person, freako.”

Dolls stepped in. At this rate someone was getting shot. “We’re not here to hurt you. We just want to talk.”

Doc was kind enough to consider that, but ultimately didn’t buy it. Wynonna was beginning to curse him. Weren’t his arms getting tired, being held up like this?

“What year is it?”

Wynonna answered, “2016.”

“Two thousand . . .” Doc’s guns lowered, slowly, and his expression fell. “Dear God, I did not count wrong. It _has_ been a century. A damn century! 130 years!” Guns raised again, in this nauseating game of back and forth, forward and back. “I know that witch is alive. Take me to her!”

“Put the guns down and we’ll talk.”

Nicole said it, and it brought Doc’s attention off Wynonna and back to Waverly. The ring, sitting bright and clear on her finger. The ring he last saw wielded by Constance Clootie, and then her husband.

“You are workin’ with her!”

“Hey!” Wynonna yelled, as loud as possible to get the attention off her sister. “Guns weren’t made to be pointed at her.”

“Do you not know what that ring is cap—”

Doc Holliday would not finish his sentence, because he was shot with a sleep dart by Nicole. His gun did fire, once, while he fell over. It shot nothing but the ground his body tumbled onto.

“Jeremy,” Nicole gasped the way she was holding her breath, “have I mentioned how much I love this gun?”

-

_November 6, 2016_

The legendary gunslinger of the old west carrying the ability of agelessness woke, showered, shaved, ate all the food he could stuff into his face, and slept for sixteen hours straight. It was remarkable.

It left time for the super soldiers to land in Greece (a place Wynonna wished she was returning to, a symbolic way to reflect on how she’d changed in the past few weeks) and report in. The approximate location of the Greek Brotherhood was known to Moody, and correct, given the swiftness they managed to find it.

Swiftness here meaning all and every variation of “bad news”.

The place was littered with corpses. Abandoned, too, but the soldiers still managed to find a way to contact the other European Brotherhoods. Not a soul responded.

Nicole Haught was the sole survivor of the entire Assassins organization.

The soldiers would stay in Europe, for now, and travel around to look for any other survivors and any information on what they were all doing before they fell. The chances they weren’t alone was small, but a little thoroughness couldn’t hurt, right?

Jeremy and Dolls let the news sit. The rest of their team were off doing their own things, anyhow. It was the best time to take yet another moment to re-coordinate yet another disaster. At this point they were professionals.

Wynonna was sick of waiting for Doc to stop sleeping like the dead he ought to be and made her own plans for today. Visit Willa’s grave. See if Lucado actually kept her word. See if her sister was in her own grave and not wasting away in the building once owned by Black Badge, a place currently under investigation by lawmen who hopefully weren’t about to be told to sweep everything under the rug. Given Black Badge was an American organization hanging out without permission in Canada, maybe things were bound to go the right way. BBD had been posing as a pharmaceutical company. Evil enough.

Before she left she met Nicole and Waverly on the porch, where they were simply sitting in silence. Watching the land. Like the cinematic pair they were. But Wynonna had no jokes to offer, no teasing for Nicole. She only asked where Rosita’s grave was, so she could pay her respects.

Cue right now, Waverly digging a short hole in the ground and Nicole, silently wondering if Wynonna’s apparent obsession with graves should be something worth looking into, carving her childhood friend’s name into cross-shaped pieces of wood. Rosita’s twin pistols and hidden blade, ready to be buried with her spirit forever. They would do a memorial later.

A memorial, where Nicole would ask a silent pair of planks if Rosita was proud of her, for finishing the mission.

-

She hated how beautiful this place was, because it was an awful, awful place. It was a place where families put away their loved ones, forever and ever, forever sealing the contract of death. Forever agreeing _yes, this person I love is dead and I’ll never see them again._

She hated the bright green grass. How dare it be so alive. She hated the sympathetic looks from the people also visiting a person who could never visit them back (save for the paranormal horror movie shit Purgatory probably had going on in the shadows). She hated the blue sky and the sound of sniffling and the occasional service to welcome another dead sucker to the dead. And, _god,_ she hated seeing “Willa Earp” engraved into stone.

The one, single thing today she wouldn’t hate, ever, is the fact Lucado kept her promise. The grass was dirt, freshly dug up and filled back. Meant Willa was finally, truly in there, and finally, truly resting.

Wynonna left the cemetery, for the last time.

-

“Darlin’, may I ask why he is so nervous around me? He does know I will not shoot anyone?”

Wynonna overheard the question, but never the answer. Because there wasn’t an answer. Her sister was so starstruck to be talking to Doc freakin’ Holliday she couldn’t answer.

Jeremy was sitting across from them, hands shaking and practically drenched in sweat. Really, really, _weird_ smile on his face.

“He has a thing for men with mustaches.” The opportunity was right there. Wynonna _had_ to say it.

Jeremy gasped, the look of utter betrayal on his face, and Doc simply raised his eyebrows.

“My,” he mumbled.

Wynonna sat with them in the living room, on a single chair before the fireplace. Not quite that cold today, but sure. Why not. “Having a meeting without me?”

“I called you twice,” Waverly said. “Not our fault you don’t answer the phone.”

“She called for you on a portable telephone!” Doc was beaming like a child. It was kind of cute.

Wynonna’s eyes fell on Nicole, sitting next to him on the couch, looking like her head just exploded. Like the circuits inside were broken and she was perpetually in a state of dreadful confusion. “What the hell’s wrong with Haught?”

Which prompted the beginning of the meeting. First, the news regarding the international Assassins. Nicole being the last person of the organization she wanted to die, anyway. The look on her face, though—she cared now. This wasn’t what she wanted anymore. Or maybe it was classic Nicole: she hated them, but that didn’t mean they should all just die. It was a concept Wynonna still couldn’t grasp. Her understanding of shitty people was _screw ‘em, they can die for all I care._

Second, what the soldiers were doing going forward.

Third, what _they_ were doing going forward.

AKA another powerpoint presentation from Professor Xavier Dolls.

He spent almost an hour catching Doc up on what they’d been doing. Honestly, it was a five minute thing. He explained what Wynonna told them happened after his disappearance (Jeremy had filled Dolls himself in the night before), how Clootie lost, first making sure to embarrass Wyatt in front of all Purgatory, and Robert getting shot. Wyatt throwing Clootie off the cliff. Then, the things Waverly saw. The Assassins never got the resurrection ring because Constance showed up and moved Clootie’s body. The ring wouldn’t leave his corpse for her. It sensed an evil in her worse than his previous user, a detail Doc agreed with a silent grunt.

Constance buried her dead husband with the ring. He remained dead, because he wasn’t alive to override it into reviving him. Waverly said it was like a relationship; doesn’t work if both parties aren’t willing. He was not unearthed until Black Badge began to catch on, decades later. She moved him to keep him and his power away from their prying hands. Once again she tried stealing the artifact, but it would not go with her. She even tried chopping his damn hand off, but even that wouldn’t work. It remained untouched until Waverly joined the Assassins and felt something, something she’d heard for years, telling her to go to the mine. They found a ghost cavalry, Constance’s line of defense. Ghosts could hurt them, but they could not hurt the ghosts. They were defeated when Waverly removed the ring from Clootie and unknowingly dispelled the defense linked to Clootie. Her and her new team set up shop and began to pursue Wynonna, and further Black Badge . . .

Ending here, with Dolls asking Doc to hand over the ring on his finger. And Doc replying with something Wynonna was not anticipating.

She expected a flat out no. Maybe, if he suddenly cared after the long tale, he’d ask what it was they planned to do with the thing. If they had a place to lock the thing up. Why the hell Nicole was delaying destroying the entire set, like she said she would they first day they met. It was one of the reasons Wynonna agreed to stay. It meant nobody could use it to do more evil shit.

Doc Holliday stood from the couch, paced the room, stopped when he circled back to the center, and removed his hat, exposing his newly-trimmed, slicked hair to the world.

“If you help me hunt down Constance Clootie, I will give you this ring.”

Rephrase: help him hunt down the woman with the freaky mind control powers who’d probably drop them with the swiftness of a sword to a fly.

“No.” Wynonna said it before anyone else could breathe. So what if Constance was shady—that dance was too risky. “Listen here, Leave-In Conditioner, we’re not doing deals. We saved your sorry ass—you _owe us.”_

Doc blinked. “I do not know what that is.” He returned his hat to his greasy (did he use shampoo yesterday?) hair and shrugged. “It appears we have found ourselves at a crossroads.”

“How is it Constance is still alive?” Dolls asked, because now was the time for a research project.

“Because she is a demon _witch.”_ When Dolls gave him a blank expression, Doc tried again. “She herself threw me down that well. When Wyatt and I broke things off I rushed to her. It was my intention to return the ring and gain my best friend’s trust back, but she had other plans. Somehow, she believed tossin’ me down would hurt Wyatt more than anythin’ else in the world.”

“She was right,” Waverly said. “Wyatt probably felt guilty and spent the rest of his life looking for you.”

She looked to Wynonna for confirmation on that theory. Wynonna nodded. Wyatt left Purgatory to search for Doc in the first place.

Doc continued, “She would visit, once every thirty years. She can control the rings, whether or not she is wearin’ them. All but that one on the young lady’s finger there. She absorbed the power from this here to steal a few more years for herself.”

“A real life Fountain of Youth,” Jeremy said, shocked.

“The nervous young man is correct.”

“J-Jeremy. You can call me Jeremy. Or young man, w-whichever’s—you can do whatever you want.”

Wynonna looked down on him. “Subtle.”

“Do we have a deal?” Doc scanned the room. Dolls, thinking it over. Jeremy, absolutely swooning in his little corner. Wynonna and Waverly, looking to Dolls. Nicole, suddenly sitting up.

And deciding for everyone, with her power as Mentor, “Deal.”

“Just like that, Haught?” Dolls asked. He looked right to Wynonna for help. He knew Waverly would be on Nicole’s side, always. Jeremy was off in fantasy land. Wynonna was a good neutral for all matters that didn’t directly involve Waverly.

Not this time. Wynonna changed her mind. Newly reminded what Constance was capable of. She was more than a shady woman with plans—she was a shady woman who could use _magic_ to carry out her plans, with a set determination to destroy her enemies, for even decades after their deaths.

They held a vote, with everyone but Dolls onboard. Nicole said the job wasn’t finished. Waverly said it wasn’t right what Constance did, and she’s free to do it again to whoever else she wants. Jeremy reminded everyone Clooties weren’t to be trusted, and the fact Constance had powers was no good news for anyone.

Time to gain Dolls’s vote. Wynonna capitalized on Jeremy’s point. “We can’t just leave her out there. Isn’t the point of all this to help keep people _out_ of danger? What’s leaving Constance free to be her witchy self gonna do?”

Dolls thought it over, no matter how badly he didn’t want to. The woman just didn’t seem like a threat. 130 years she’d been around, and never had she made any sort of move, other than covering her tracks by moving her husband.

Doc stood in silence, apparently confident things were going his way. Confident that, after a century, his gambling skills hadn’t taken a hit.

They hadn’t.

“Okay, Holliday, you win. Where do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most frustrating lesson in life I’ve learned, is sometimes the answer isn’t out on a long journey. Sometimes the little bitch has been quietly sitting in front of you the whole time and hasn’t had the decency to speak up. Li’l bitch. 
> 
> If you’re familiar with the Assassin’s Creed games, think of Nicole’s new uniform as the one Arno uses in Unity. ‘Cause, you know, blue is Nicole’s color ;)
> 
> I really did want to give you guys a well-deserved smut scene after twenty-three friggin’ chapters, but… well, it sucked, man. It freakin’ sucked. I got Dairy Queen coupons though, y’all want that? (They're expired but I got 'em)
> 
> Also! Forgot to mention: I did NOT make up the full names for the super soldiers. The names are present on the dog tags Quinn is holding in episode 303. If you pause while he’s talking to Wynonna during the wake, you’ll see. Checked myself out of curiosity and got me a little gift.
> 
> Next time: the team seeks out Connnstaannccee Clooteh
> 
> Songs used in this chapter (or attempted to be used):  
> Wanted Dead or Alive, Bon Jovi [(S)](https://open.spotify.com/track/2fY6tqgrlrg1ky9fgs0t5u?si=_3DfRZ2KQZa9A3QP9dgdkQ)


	24. The Stone Witch

_ November 6, 2016 _

It slipped from her wrist and into the earth, as if wishing, deeply, in its core, to return to its owner.

Rosita’s hidden blade, her silenced pistols, her knife with wolves engraved onto the blade, all buried together. The team she held together, staring down at her memorial site, the planks scratched with her name forever standing at the Earp homestead. Her successor, the one she believed most in, pouring the dirt into her symbolic grave.

The team Earp said goodbye to her, forever. Nicole Haught said goodbye, to her oldest friend, forever. Forever ending the chapter of her old life.

-

_ November 7, 2016 _

Within the same moment they agreed to aid Doc Holliday in his personal vengeance against Constance Clootie, the team set out on an extensive search. All the places she might frequent. Shorty’s, of course, where every person in Purgatory hung out. Older buildings (list provided by Mercedes over text), abandoned types that screamed “villain aesthetic”, even the old mine. Nothing. What sort of long-living villain carried a lifestyle square enough to blend in? It went against every movie rule! Where was the evil mansion!

Waverly convinced Nedley to help. Nobody along the name Clootie, of course, but he did know of a “CC Stone”. Home address unknown, workplace in the city. He seemed to think they were up to some shady business. 

They finished the evening with a dedication to Rosita. Some drinks. Nicole shared old stories. Then everyone slept for the night, recharged, and woke up ready to work.

Today Waverly was going to work her non-ring, Waverly magic and look into every inch of their sole lead. If that didn’t work, Nedley pointed out more places that held their own percentages of suspicion. Dolls and Jeremy were going out, to aid the reporter by speaking out against BBD in the very public spotlight they’d found themselves in. The executives who still remained and hadn’t run for the hills were doing a terrible job. On top of their panic, it appeared the government swore of their relations, not intending at all to help. Nobody saw Xavier Dolls happier.

Wynonna was taking the chance to walk Doc around town. Try to ease him into the modern world, slow things down a bit. He had a great poker face, but she could sense he was about to collapse. 130 years. How could that  _ not _ be overwhelming? When he was around, the concept of the first cars were rolling out. Now there were self-driving, talking vehicles with built-in GPS maps, and mom vans with televisions in the back seats. Televisions—another thing he didn’t know about.

“You’re getting along surprisingly well.”

She made the point when they stopped by Shorty’s for a drink. Corner booth, away from the prying eyes of a crowd. Wynonna could see Nedley, watching Doc. He always watched the new faces. Especially when they were alone with Wynonna Earp. And armed.

“Well,” Doc grinned, swirling the glass of whiskey  in his hand, “I am the charismatic type.”

“Yeah,  _ that’s _ it. I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” His defensive grin died, and he downed the glass. “No, it has not been easy, nor did I expect it to be, but I have had plenty of time to prepare myself. To ‘broaden my horizon’, as they say. There is only so much to do when trapped alone at the bottom of a dried up old well.”

Wynonna nodded. Let another shot burn down her throat.

“It is nice,” Doc continued, “to see how things have changed. Horse-less carriages, tiny telephones you can poke to work. So many buildin’s, in one place. They’re so big.”

“Wait ‘til you see a proper skyscraper. And we don’t have any problems? With my sister? With Dolls?”

“Other than Mister Dolls bein’ the worst pain in the ass I have met in my life, no.”

“No, I meant  _ problems.  _ My sister has a girlfriend. A girlfriend she likes very much. Jeremy, he’s what I’ve heard you call, a ‘daisy’. Nicole’s a woman and she’s in charge. Dolls is in charge, too, and he’s a black man. If we have any problems with that here, I’ll be happy to smack them out of you.”

Doc quietly took another drink, surveyed the bar. Women in short skirts, dancing freely. An interracial couple, laughing. Two men, sitting awfully close to one another. He looked back to Wynonna, grinning again. “Like I said, Wynonna, no problems.”

“Good.”

He looked over the bar again. “This is what our country ought to be. Look how free everyone is. Remarkable. Man was  _ made _ to be free.”

Wynonna made a note not to show him any recent American headlines. “A century in the hole really changes a guy, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, it does. It does.” Doc returned his attention to her, to another free drink Shorty dumped on their table the second they sat down. “That hell was good for one thing: it taught me there are bigger things in life to be a scoundrel about.”

“Minus the huge revenge plot you’ve got us on.”

“Why did you change your mind, Wynonna? One moment you were ready to steal this artifact from my very finger, the next you were jumpin’ on the train with me.”

“I don’t know.” Wynonna set aside the drink in her hand, and leaned harder against the seatback. “Chalk it up to peer pressure.”

“You saw something. In that ‘Animal’ machine, didn’t you?”

“ ‘Animus’, and maybe. Look, Constance isn’t a joke, alright? I don’t want that near my sister. She’s finally found happiness and I don’t want her to lose it. I don’t want a repeat of  _ you _ pointing your vintage pistols at her, either, got it?”

“Certainly. I find no reason for anyone in this world to do wrong by Waverly.”

“So he  _ is _ learning, then. You only like her because she’s been giving you lots of attention, and a performer like you  _ thrives  _ on that crap.”

He grinned. “Why, the young lady has many a question about my life back in the day. It would be rude to turn her away!”

“Sure.”

“And about Constance—something tells me the young lady would not step down, even if you asked.”

The thought made Wynonna drink. “Yeah, that seems to be a growing problem.”

“So you did this to protect her. I see. Awfully noble.”

“Awfully selfish, more like. So what, we see Constance and you just pop her in the head? Just like that?”

“Well, how else would I do it? Burn her at the stake? I have a feelin’ that is no longer a public pastime.”

“It isn’t. If it was, they would’ve burned my ass a long time ago. That’s all you want to do? Shoot her?”

“Is that not what you did with that Lucado woman?”

“I’m asking you  _ because _ I shot Lucado. I’d much rather her be here, watching everything she worked for fall apart. Run away in embarrassment from the press. Bad Internet memes.”

“Well, I am afraid that does not apply here. Constance is a woman of magic and tricks. The only cell that will hold her, is a deep grave.”

True. The woman was around for 130 years now. In all that time she was bound to learn some tricks.

That was the other thing about Constance keeping Wynonna on her toes. The woman was around for  _ 130 years.  _ If there was something she was waiting around to do, surely she would’ve done it by now. She wasn’t sticking around to watch Doc roll around in his own suffering. What a tiresome thing to watch for a century. No, Constance had a plan. She was sticking around for a reason. Keeping a low profile. Blending in. What the hell was it?

-

“What is her deal? Why stick around for so long?”

Nicole had the same concerns as Wynonna. The fact Waverly was so calm right only made her more impatient. Calm meant she hadn’t made any real connections yet. Nothing, apart from her small excitement earlier when she discovered CC Stone’s workplace.

“The obvious theory is she’s still looking for her sons.” Waverly didn’t look up from the reports in front of her. Older blonde woman, talking to construction companies. Legal fights to continue digging in places she wasn’t supposed to. “Wynonna said the Assassins buried the bones all over the Ghost River Triangle. She’s been keeping tabs on the resurrection ring, too. What else could she have been doing for the past 130 years?”

“Making another set of twins, maybe?”

Waverly smacked Nicole over the head with a folder, where her head rested in boredom on the kitchen table. “You’re terrible! Like you wouldn’t do the same for your kids.”

“I have one kid right now and I  _ definitely _ wouldn’t waste a century on her.”

Nicole eyed Calamity Jane, who, for some reason, decided to spend the entire morning sitting right on top of the fridge. The cat glared at her, as if she understood what Nicole said. She softened only when Waverly smiled at her.

“I would, Calamity Jane.”

“Kiss ass.”

“We know who really pulls the strings here,  _ Mentor Haught.” _

“Don’t remind her. She’ll kill us all.” Nicole sat up, stretching, then made to stand altogether. “Okay, I’m heading over to the barn. If Dolls calls me lazy one more time I’m going to throw him off the roof.”

“Can’t you just work out in here?”

Nicole smirked. “Waverly Earp, you pervert!”

“Because it’s cold outside, Nicole!”

“Uh huh.”

“And maybe also I want to watch, fine. Where  _ do _ you keep getting all this workout equipment from? First the mine, now here.”

“There’s an abandoned gym in town. The padlock is crap.”

Waverly sat up. “Oh,  _ please _ open a gym. That would be so hot. You, in a boxing ring . . .”

Nicole shook her head. She leaned in close to Waverly, who took it as a prompt for a kiss. So Nicole leaned back last minute, smirking again. “Waverly Earp, you pervert.”

And Waverly  _ glared. _

The minute Nicole made for the door she was met with Dolls and Jeremy, returning from their noble work of destroying Black Badge with the power of the pen. She barely got the first sound of a “hello” out before Dolls walked into the house and asked Waverly if they had Constance’s location yet. Kind of made her feel like an invisible shrub.

Waverly reported, “I have several cases of ‘CC Stone’ suing and petitioning for digging rights on several different plots around Purgatory.”

“What do we know about CC Stone?” Dolls sat in Nicole’s seat. In the corner, she sighed.

“She’s a lawyer, she likes to dig all around Purgatory, and she doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“Lawyer? In the city, right?”

“In the city,” Waverly confirmed with a nod.

“It’s not a small building, either,” Nicole chimed in. From her corner. “If you’re thinking ‘break-in’, be sure about it. Lots of interference.”

In other words, police officers and nosy civilians.

“We can scout the place out first. Make a plan,” Dolls suggested. “Ask around about this CC, too. Confirm it’s really Constance.”

“I’ll go. With Wynonna. If we take Doc he might blow the whole thing.”

Waverly chuckled. “Because my sister isn’t impulsive?”

“Her, I can  stop. Not Doc. He’s deceptively fast. He’s an old man with a teen’s reflexes.”

Jeremy swooned. “Isn’t he great?”

-

The offices were busy, yet quiet. Papers shuffled. Copy machines hummed. Workplace whispers. Fancy shoes walking the waxed floor. Wynonna was getting nauseating flashbacks to life in foster care.

Outside, the team did their own examination of the building. Jeremy had Nicole help him get the schematics. To Wynonna, it seemed like a waste of time. What, they were infiltrating this place to find the woman’s office number, double check it was actually her, then leave? What was the point?

“Wynonna, if we do find Constance here, do not kill her.”

Nicole read her mind, and chose to do this in the empty stairwell they found themselves in. Standing around and walking in circles was starting to get suspicious. What a ridiculous thing to add to a ridiculous waste of time. Why stall? Why hesitate?

She asked. “Why not? What’s the point in waiting?”

Nicole didn’t look at her. Just kept walking up the stairs at a slow pace. Giving Jeremy time to find Stone’s office. Another weird thing—why didn’t they just ask an employee? “Just don’t.”

“Haught, this isn’t a moral issue. It’s what needs to be done. Don’t you want to end this?”

“Not like that.”

Wynonna sighed, shaking her head side to side. “This softie shit is great when you’re with Waverly. Not now. Time to make the big choice.”

“There are too many witnesses.” Still not looking back at Wynonna. It was kind of frustrating. At least have the decency to say it to her face, right?

“You’d say that if the building was empty.”

She finally stopped. “There is security at every corner. There’s a police vehicle outside. Only two of us—not worth it.”

“Hasn’t stopped us before, Haught.”

They found themselves in a staredown. Of all the times to do this, they both chose in the middle of a reconnaissance mission, standing in a stairwell. Both were right, both were wrong; there was no right answer. There was never an easy, “right” answer.

The only reason they broke was because Jeremy called in to report the office number. Highest floor, farthest down the hall. The two went over without a word. Wynonna, mad about Nicole’s hesitance. Nicole, mad about Wynonna’s need to argue  _ everything. _

Office was empty. Open, but empty. Wynonna kept the receptionist busy with questions while Nicole observed with both her eyes and her shoulder camera.

There was no need. Hanging on the wall, just behind the receptionist, was a picture of the entire staff. Constance Clootie, much older looking than Wynonna recalled, was front and center.

Further information Wynonna squeezed from the receptionist: CC Stone wasn’t known to be in the office during the day. Whole point of an office, but sure. She did “field work” during day hours and returned to her office to work after hours. Apparently it was a privacy reasons thing. Classic case of the boss getting to do whatever they wanted while everyone else does actual work.

The team made their decision. They would return, later tonight, when everyone else was gone. Corner Constance, before she could see them coming. Doc’s terms stated he got to decide what happened to her. Much to Nicole’s frustration and Wynonna’s victory.

Tonight, Constance Clootie would die.

-

Door swung open, alarm beeped softly. One by one, they all left.

The Purgatory Assassins did not enter through the same door. They used the excess grapple lines taken from BBD’s supply, to hoist themselves onto the roof. Climbed down the same stairwell Nicole heard echoes of her dumb spat with Wynonna, descending only one flight to access the highest floor of the building. A single light was on, down the hall. CC Stone’s office. CC Stone, sitting alone inside.

They separated into different positions of attack, using the low hum of Stone’s radio to mask the already minimal sound they were making. Music was classical. Figures she’d listen to the douchiest form of music.

Wynonna was in Doc’s corner. Figuratively, too. He wanted revenge? Sure. Let’s get some revenge. Kill Constance, end this crazy mission. Make the world a better place. A safer one, for her sister.

But the moment Doc pulled his guns from his holsters, no slower than usual, everyone fell to their feet.

Constance spotted them.

She raised a mental hell on everyone, everyone but Doc. He was left to watch his new partners. Dolls, backing away from someone he begged to put needles down. Jeremy, telling someone  _ TURN THE CAR, WE’RE GOING TO CRASH!  _ Waverly was telling someone to lower their voice, then she screamed fearfully about how they were drunk. Wynonna physically fought someone she also implied, in her shouting, was drunk. Mentor Haught was the quietest of all. She just stared ahead, like she was watching a ghost. Apologizing, left and right.

Then Doc watched Constance Clootie, calmly stand from her work desk, straighten out her skirt, and stride over in the slowest of fashion. No rush. No one trying to kill her. Just an ordinary day at the office!

His guns aimed. CC Stone, Constance Clootie, his own personal Lucado, caught in his crosshairs. “I have caught you now, you devil  _ bitch _ .”

Constance laughed. Just an ordinary day at the office. Didn’t even care the west’s fastest draw was ready to put her down. “So you have, John Henry. So you have. I suppose, somewhere down the line—” she eyed Wynonna, then him again— “an Earp had to care about you. I suppose one day you would prove useful for them to care for again.”

“You shut your mouth, woman. Lay down and die!”

“Ah-ah, I wouldn’t shoot if I were you.”

“How do you figure?”

“You pull that trigger, you feel the pain, too.” She smiled, a snake the same as her late husband. “I have linked us together.”

It wasn’t enough of a warning. There was no plan after Constance was dead. Constance dies—that was Doc Holliday’s final, grand plan.

He felt it straight away, like a wrecking ball plowed through his chest. Constance was shot through her left shoulder. 

Not her heart.

Doc was furious. For the first time in his career, he missed.

His partners returned to reality, as quickly as they fell out of it. They were left disoriented, frantically trying to put things back together. It was the perfect chance for Constance to make a run for it.

One by one they chased through the halls, Constance losing the strength of her power thanks to Doc’s shot. She tried more tricks, but they were just weak enough to break. The power she stole from Doc’s ring on the run wasn’t healing her fast enough, either. It wasn’t until Waverly, closest to her from the beginning, managed to leap and successfully tackle her to the ground.

Wynonna proudly called, “Nice one, baby girl!”

Then she collapsed. They all collapsed.

-

Waverly Earp was gone.

They tore the entire building apart. No Waverly, no trace of Constance. She must’ve seen the ring on her finger. Probably didn’t agree to go with her yet again, so she stole Waverly. All those times hiding it away, unable to use it, and here Waverly was, a worthy user. It all made sense.

On the seventh or eighth look-around of the entire block, for even the tiniest of clues, Nicole fell to her knees. She felt numb. She felt stupid. She felt disgusted with herself. She felt evil and traitorous. Constance took Waverly. She was supposed to protect Waverly. She was in charge, and this was her team. What type of moron fails their team so spectacularly?

Fighting Wynonna was stupid. This game Nicole played, who was the better person—it was about to get one of them killed. Her hesitance was about to get one of them killed!

She jumped at the feeling of a hand on her shoulder. Wynonna’s, no doubt. She hoped that hand was about to punch her out, but it was still. It was entirely too kind, she thought.

“I’m so sorry, Wynonna.”

The hand squeezed her shoulder. “This isn’t on you.”

“What was the first thing I ever said to you?”

“Anti-BBD propaganda?” A humorless laugh followed. It looked so desperately for a place to fit in, a place to help an understanding appear in this mess.

“I was supposed to destroy the ring. I said so. I said I was going to.”

“Nicole—”

“I chickened out! I was going to wait until we had them all. We  _ have _ them all, right now!”

“Haught,” the hand left her shoulder, “it’s a stupid ring. And nothing is your fault, you overly noble—”

Nicole shot up from the ground. She stared where, just moments ago in this very building, Waverly was right next to her. How was it she  _ wasn’t _ anymore? What kind of sick joke was this?

“I’m the Mentor. I’m supposed to keep all of you safe. And now she’s gone. She believed in me, and I let her down. This is Rosita all over again.  _ Oh my god _ , I’ve killed Waverly!”

“Haught!”

Nicole’s breathing was erratic. She wasn’t aware she was pacing around and roughing fingers through her hair, tugging as if to adjust a radio antenna for the right frequency of sense. Wynonna held her wrists, firm, and eyed her sternly.

“Blaming yourself isn’t helping,” she said. Her hands were cold where she placed them against Nicole’s cheeks. “Focus. What do we do? Where do we start?”

Nicole blinked. Her voice was quiet. “I-I—I don’t—”

“Come on, Haught. There’s something in here. She’s counting on us. We can’t mope around. Whatcha got in there?”

Something about seeing tears pooling in the eyes of Wynonna Earp shattered Nicole’s insecurities. There was no doubt she felt equally, likely more, responsible for Waverly’s disappearance. Forget friendship (relationship?), teammate guilt nonsense—Waverly was Wynonna’s  _ sister.  _

Nicole grabbed both of Wynonna’s hands in her own, squeezing them. “We should look around here. Maybe Constance is the journaling type.”

A weak chuckle left Nicole at the thought and simplicity of their new antagonist, writing down a detailed map for them to follow. Wynonna seemed amused, too, in the microscopic smile she let off.

“Aye-aye, Mentor Phoenix.”

I was a moment before their hands broke and the eye contact left. There was a silent promise here, between them. They were in this together. No more dumb disagreements. They would need to have each other’s backs. Stronger than before. They’d need to pick each other up, if things were heading for the worst.

They needed to be strong, for Waverly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about that wait, folks! I recently got a new job and I’m currently the only worker in the office so things here have been busy busy. And on top of that I had some issues writing this chapter (turns out the cure was a very long nap). Now, I wrote 25 and 26 a while ago so all they need are a few little tweaks but 27 and 28 have only one scene each done. Might take a little longer than usual to get posted, but I promise you they will indeed get posted. No matter how busy I’ll always finish my stories here ;)
> 
> I’d also like to point out this chapter marks the end of the lengthy Act II. Movin’ into the final stages here, my friends.
> 
> I was gonna call jazz the douchiest form of music but bitch I listen to jazz like seventy percent of the time and I’m not calling myself out like that 
> 
> Speaking of music, if you want you should listen to “Missing” by Evanescence to get sad about the next chapter y e e t (because it is indeed, VERY sad)


End file.
